尤利西斯-第94章

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Dew　falling。　Bad　for　you；　dear；　to　sit　on　that　stone。　Brings　on　white　fluxions。　Never　have　little　baby　then　less　he　was　big　strong　fight　his　way　up　through。　Might　get　piles　myself。　Sticks　too　like　a　summer　cold；　sore　on　the　mouth。　Cut　with　grass　or　paper　worst。　Friction　of　the　position。　Like　to　be　that　rock　she　sat　on。　O　sweet　little；　you　don't　know　how　nice　you　looked。　I　begin　to　like　them　at　that　age。　Green　apples。　Grab　at　all　that　offer。　Suppose　it's　the　only　time　we　cross　legs；　seated。　Also　the　library　today：　those　girl　graduates。　Happy　chairs　under　them。　But　it's　the　evening　influence。　They　feel　all　that。　Open　like　flowers；　know　their　hours；　sunflowers；　Jerusalem　artichokes；　in　ballrooms；　chandeliers；　avenues　under　the　lamps。　Nightstock　in　Mat　Dillon's　garden　where　I　kissed　her　shoulder。　Wish　I　had　a　full　length　oil…painting　of　her　then。　June　that　was　too　I　wooed。　The　year　returns。　History　repeats　itself。　Ye　crags　and　peaks　I'm　with　you　once　again。　Life；　love；　voyage　round　your　own　little　world。　And　now？　Sad　about　her　lame　of　course　but　must　be　on　your　guard　not　to　feel　too　much　pity。　They　take　advantage。　
All　quiet　on　Howth　now。　The　distant　hills　seem。　Where　we。　The　rhododendrons。　I　am　a　fool　perhaps。　He　gets　the　plums　and　I　the　plumstones。　Where　I　e　in。　All　that　old　hill　has　seen。　Names　change：　that's　all。　Lovers：　yum　yum。　
Tired　I　feel　now。　Will　I　get　up？　O　wait。　Drained　all　the　manhood　out　of　me；　little　wretch。　She　kissed　me。　My　youth。　Never　again。　Only　once　it　es。　Or　hers。　Take　the　train　there　tomorrow。　No。　Returning　not　the　same。　Like　kids　your　second　visit　to　a　house。　The　new　I　want。　Nothing　new　under　the　sun。　Care　of　P。　O。　Dolphin's　barn。　Are　you　not　happy　in　your？　Naughty　darling。　At　Dolphin's　barn　charades　in　Luke　Doyle's　house。　Mat　Dillon　and　his　bevy　of　daughters：　Tiny；　Atty；　Floey；　Maimy；　Louy；　Hetty。　Molly　too。　Eightyseven　that　was。　
Year　before　we。　And　the　old　major　partial　to　his　drop　of　spirits。　Curious　she　an　only　child；　I　an　only　child。　So　it　returns。　Think　you're　escaping　and　run　into　yourself。　Longest　way　round　is　the　shortest　way　home。　And　just　when　he　and　she。　Circus　horse　walking　in　a　ring。　Rip　van　Winkle　we　played。　Rip：　tear　in　Henny　Doyle's　overcoat。　Van：　breadvan　delivering。　Winkle：　cockles　and　periwinkles。　Then　I　did　Rip　van　Winkle　ing　back。　She　leaned　on　the　sideboard　watching。　Moorish　eyes。　Twenty　years　asleep　in　Sleepy　Hollow。　All　changed。　Forgotten。　The　young　are　old。　His　gun　rusty　from　the　dew。　
Ba。　What　is　that　flying　about？　Swallow？　Bat　probably。　Thinks　I'm　a　tree；　so　blind。　Have　birds　no　smell？　Metempsychosis。　They　believed　you　could　be　changed　into　a　tree　from　grief。　Weeping　willow。　Ba。　There　he　goes。　Funny　little　beggar。　Wonder　where　he　lives。　Belfry　up　there。　Very　likely。　Hanging　by　his　heels　in　the　odour　of　sanctity。　Bell　scared　him　out；　I　suppose。　Mass　seems　to　be　over。　Could　hear　them　all　at　it。　Pray　for　us。　And　pray　for　us。　And　pray　for　us。　Good　idea　the　repetition。　Same　thing　with　ads。　Buy　from　us。　And　buy　from　us。　Yes；　there's　the　light　in　the　priest's　house。　Their　frugal　meal。　Remember　about　the　mistake　in　the　valuation　when　I　was　in　Thom's。　Twentyeight　it　is。　Two　houses　they　have。　Gabriel　Conroy's　brother　is　curate。　Ba。　Again。　Wonder　why　they　e　out　at　night　like　mice。　They're　a　mixed　breed。　Birds　are　like　hopping　mice。　What　frightens　them；　light　or　noise？　Better　sit　still。　All　instinct　like　the　bird　in　drouth　got　water　out　of　the　end　of　a　jar　by　throwing　in　pebbles。　Like　a　little　man　in　a　cloak　he　is　with　tiny　hands。　Weeny　bones。　Almost　see　them　shimmering；　kind　of　a　bluey　white。　Colours　depend　on　the　light　you　see。　Stare　the　sun　for　example　like　the　eagle　then　look　at　a　shoe　see　a　blotch　blob　yellowish。　Wants　to　stamp　his　trademark　on　everything。　Instance；　that　cat　this　morning　on　the　staircase。　Colour　of　brown　turf。　Say　you　never　see　them　with　three　colours。　Not　true。　That　half　tabbywhite　tortoise…shell　in　the　City　Anns　with　the　letter　em　on　her　forehead。　Body　fifty　different　colours。　Howth　a　while　ago　amethyst。　Glass　flashing。　That's　how　that　wise　man　what's　his　name　with　the　burning　glass。　Then　the　heather　goes　on　fire。　It　can't　be　tourists'　matches。　What？　Perhaps　the　sticks　dry　rub　together　in　the　wind　and　light。　Or　broken　bottles　in　the　furze　act　as　a　burning　glass　in　the　sun。　Archimedes。　I　have　it！　My　memory's　not　so　bad。　
Ba。　Who　knows　what　they're　always　flying　for。　Insects？　That　bee　last　week　got　into　the　room　playing　with　his　shadow　on　the　ceiling。　Might　be　the　one　bit　me；　e　back　to　see。　Birds　too　never　find　out　what　they　say。　Like　our　small　talk。　And　says　she　and　says　he。　Nerve？　they　have　to　fly　over　the　ocean　and　back。　Lot　must　be　killed　in　storms；　telegraph　wires。　Dreadful　life　sailors　have　too。　Big　brutes　of　ocean…going　steamers　floundering　along　in　the　dark；　lowing　out　like　seacows。　Faugh　a　ballagh。　Out　of　that；　bloody　curse　to　you。　Others　in　vessels；　bit　of　a　handkerchief　sail；　pitched　about　like　snuff　at　a　wake　when　the　stormy　winds　do　blow。　Married　too。　Sometimes　away　for　years　at　the　ends　of　the　earth　somewhere。　No　ends　really　because　it's　round。　Wife　in　every　port　they　say。　She　has　a　good　job　if　she　minds　it　till　Johnny　es　marching　home　again。　If　ever　he　does。　Smelling　the　tail　end　of　ports。　How　can　they　like　the　sea？　Yet　they　do。　The　anchor's　weighed。　Off　he　sails　with　a　scapular　or　a　medal　on　him　for　luck。　Well？　And　the　tephilim　no　what's　this　they　call　it　poor　papa's　father　had　on　his　door　to　touch。　That　brought　us　out　of　the　land　of　Egypt　and　into　the　house　of　bondage。　Something　in　all　those　superstitions　because　when　you　go　out　never　know　what　dangers。　Hanging　on　to　a　plank　or　astride　of　a　beam　for　grim　life；　life…belt　round　round　him；　gulping　salt　water；　and　that's　the　last　of　his　nibs　till　the　sharks　catch　hold　of　him。　Do　fish　ever　get　seasick？　
Then　you　have　a　beautiful　calm　without　a　cloud；　smooth　sea；　placid；　crew　and　cargo　in　smithereens；　Davy　Jones'　locker。　Moon　looking　down。　Not　my　fault；　old　cockalorum。　
A　lost　long　candle　wandered　up　the　sky　from　Mirus　bazaar　in　search　of　funds　for　Mercer's　hospital　and　broke；　drooping；　and　sheda　cluster　of　violet　but　one　white　stars。　They　floated；　fell：　they　faded。　The　shepherd's　hour：　the　hour　of　holding：　hour　of　tryst。　From　house　to　house；　giving　his　everwele　double　knock；　went　the　nine　o'clock　postman；　the　glowworm's　lamp　at　his　belt　gleaming　here　and　there　through　the　laurel　hedges。　And　among　the　five　young　trees　a　hoisted　lintstock　lit　the　lamp　at　Leahy's　terrace。　By　screens　of　lighted　windows；　by　equal　gardens　a　shrill　voice　went　crying；　wailing：　Evening　Telegraph；　stop　press　edition！　Result　of　the　Gold　Cup　race！　and　from　the　door　of　Dignam's　house　a　boy　ran　out　and　called。　Twittering　the　bat　flew　here；　flew　there。　Far　out　over　the　sands　the　ing　surf　crept；　grey。　Howth　settled　for　slumber　tired　of　long　days；　of　yumyum　rhododendrons　（he　was　old）　and　felt　gladly　the　night　breeze　lift；　ruffle　his　fell　of　ferns。　He　lay　but　opened　a　red　eye　unsleeping；　deep　and　slowly　breathing；　slumberous　but　awake。　And　far　on　Kish　bank　the　anchored　lightship　twinkled；　winked　at　Mr　Bloom。　
Life　those　chaps　out　there　must　have；　stuck　in　the　same　spot。　Irish　Lights　board。　Penance　for　their　sins。　Coastguards　too。　Rocket　and　breeches　buoy　and　lifeboat。　Day　we　went　out　for　the　pleasure　cruise　in　the　Erin's　King；　throwing　them　the　sack　of　old　papers。　Bears　in　the　zoo。　Filthy　trip。　Drunkards　out　to　shake　up　their　livers。　Puking　overboard　to　feed　the　herrings。　Nausea。　And　the　women；　fear　of　God　in　their　faces。　Milly；　no　sign　of　funk。　Her　blue　scarf　loose；　laughing。　Don't　know　what　death　is　at　that　age。　And　then　their　stomachs　clean。　But　being　lost　they　fear。　When　we　hid　behind　the　tree　at　Crumlin。　I　didn't　want　to。　Mamma！　Mamma！　Babes　in　the　wood。　Frightening　them　with　masks　too。　Throwing　them　up　in　the　air　to　catch　them。　I'll　murder　you。　Is　it　only　half　fun？　Or　children　playing　battle。　Whole　earnest。　How　can　people　aim　guns　at　each　other？　Sometimes　they　go　off。　Poor　kids。　Only　troubles　wildfire　and　nettlerash。　Calomel　purge　I　got　her　for　that。　After　getting　better　asleep　with　Molly。　Very　same　teeth　she　has。　What　do　they　love？　Another　themselves？　But　the　morning　she　chased　her　with　the　umbrella。　Perhaps　so　as　not　to　hurt。　I　felt