Page 290 (12.377-413) "There he is... to this, will you?"

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— There he is again, says the citizen, staring out.



— Who? says I.



— Bloom, says he. He's on point duty up and down there for the last ten minutes.



And, begob, I saw his physog do a peep in and then slidder off again.

"physog" is rarer than any of the variants


Little Alf was knocked bawways. Faith, he was.

sideways


— Good Christ! says he. I could have sworn it was him.



And says Bob Doran, with the hat on the back of his poll, lowest blackguard in Dublin when he's under the influence:

— Who said Christ is good?



— I beg your parsnips, says Alf.



— Is that a good Christ, says Bob Doran, to take away poor little Willy Dignam?



— Ah, well, says Alf, trying to pass it off. He's over all his troubles.



But Bob Doran shouts out of him.



— He's a bloody ruffian, I say, to take away poor little Willy Dignam.

Terry came down and tipped him the wink to keep quiet, that they didn't want that kind of talk in a respectable licensed premises. And Bob Doran starts doing the weeps about Paddy Dignam, true as you're there.

cf p75 "Doing the indignant"

1842 'True as you're there'


— The finest man, says he, snivelling, the finest purest character.



The tear is bloody near your eye. Talking through his bloody hat. Fitter for him to go home to the little sleepwalking bitch he married, Mooney, the bumbailiff's daughter. Mother kept a kip in Hardwicke street that used to be stravaging about the landings Bantam Lyons told me that was stopping there at two in the morning without a stitch on her, exposing her person, open to all comers, fair field and no favour.

fdv: "Bob Doran bent over with the hat on the back of his poll. "Who's dead?" says he. "Dignam" says Ned Lambert. "Is it little Dignam that was in Menton's office." "Ay, poor chap, he's gone to a better world," says Ned. [joyce's doublequotes here]
Bob kept gaping at him with the glass in his hand. He's on a hell of a bend those times. Bloody safe if he doesn't finish up in Saint John of God's. That bloody little sleepwalking bitch he married. Mooney, the bailiff's daughter. The mother kept a kind of a kip in Hardwicke Street. He was damn well had anyhow. Ask Bantam Lyons. Walking about the house at two in the morning in her shift. Open to all comers. A fair field and no favour." [2nd appearance of Nameless narrator]

Lyons stayed at Doran's mother-in-law's kip, and reported she wandered naked at night

"fair field and no favour" phrase


— The noblest, the truest, says he. And he's gone, poor little Willy, poor little Paddy Dignam.



And mournful and with a heavy heart he bewept the extinction of that beam of heaven.



Old Garryowen started growling again at Bloom that was skeezing round the door.



— Come in, come on, says the citizen. He won't eat you.



So Bloom slopes in with his cod's eye on the dog and he asks Terry was Martin Cunningham there.



— O, Christ M'Keown, says Joe, reading one of the letters. Listen to this, will you?

McKeown was a common surname

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