Page 259 (11.523-561) "Bloom with Goulding... chap. Stopped."

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Bloom with Goulding, married in silence, ate. Dinners fit for princes.



By Bachelor's walk jogjaunty jingled Blazes Boylan, bachelor, in sun, in heat, mare's glossy rump atrot, with flick of whip, on bounding tyres: sprawled, warmseated, Boylan impatience, ardentbold. Horn. Have you the? Horn. Have you the? Haw haw horn.



Over their voices Dollard bassooned attack, booming over bombarding chords:

bassoon:


— When love absorbs my ardent soul...



Roll of Bensoulbenjamin rolled to the quivery loveshivery roofpanes.



— War! War! cried Father Cowley. You're the warrior.

the song is a duet between Love and War


— So I am, Ben Warrior laughed. I was thinking of your landlord. Love or money.



He stopped. He wagged huge beard, huge face over his blunder huge.

first hint that Dollard has a beard?


— Sure, you'd burst the tympanum of her ear, man, Mr Dedalus said through smoke aroma, with an organ like yours.



In bearded abundant laughter Dollard shook upon the keyboard. He would.



— Not to mention another membrane, Father Cowley added. Half time, Ben. Amoroso ma non troppo. Let me there.



Miss Kennedy served two gentlemen with tankards of cool stout. She passed a remark. It was indeed, first gentleman said, beautiful weather. They drank cool stout. Did she know where the lord lieutenant was going? And heard steelhoofs ringhoof ring. No, she couldn't say. But it would be in the paper. O, she needn't trouble. No trouble. She waved about her outspread Independent, searching, the lord lieutenant, her pinnacles of hair slowmoving, lord lieuten. Too much trouble, first gentleman said. O, not in the least. Way he looked that. Lord lieutenant. Gold by bronze heard iron steel.

surely it's not Bloom drinking stout? so who?


— . . . . . . . . . . . . . . my ardent soul
    I care not foror the morrow.



In liver gravy Bloom mashed mashed potatoes. Love and war someone is. Ben Dollard's famous. Night he ran round to us to borrow a dress suit for that concert. Trousers tight as a drum on him. Musical porkers. Molly did laugh when he went out. Threw herself back across the bed, screaming, kicking. With all his belongings on show. O saints above, I'm drenched! O, the women in the front row! O, I never laughed so many! Well, of course, that's what gives him the base barreltone. For instance eunuchs. Wonder who's playing. Nice touch. Must be Cowley. Musical. Knows whatever note you play. Bad breath he has, poor chap. Stopped.

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