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Ulysses

Chapter 8
Pineapple rock, lemon platt, butter scotch. A sugarsticky girl shovelling scoopfuls of
creams for a christian brother. Some school treat. Bad for their tummies. Lozenge and
comfit manufacturer to His Majesty the King. God. Save. Our. Sitting on his throne
sucking red jujubes white.
A sombre Y.M.C.A. young man, watchful among the warm sweet fumes of Graham
Lemon's, placed a throwaway in a hand of Mr Bloom.
Heart to heart talks.
Bloo ... Me? No.
Blood of the Lamb.
His slow feet walked him riverward, reading. Are you saved? All are washed in the blood
of the lamb. God wants blood victim. Birth, hymen, martyr, war, foundation of a
building, sacrifice, kidney burntoffering, druids' altars. Elijah is coming. Dr John
Alexander Dowie restorer of the church in Zion is coming.
IS COMING! IS COMING!! IS COMING!!!
ALL HEARTILY WELCOME.
Paying game. Torry and Alexander last year. Polygamy. His wife will put the stopper on
that. Where was that ad some Birmingham firm the luminous crucifix. Our Saviour.
Wake up in the dead of night and see him on the wall, hanging. Pepper's ghost idea. Iron
nails ran in.
Phosphorus it must be done with. If you leave a bit of codfish for instance. I could see the
bluey silver over it. Night I went down to the pantry in the kitchen. Don't like all the
smells in it waiting to rush out. What was it she wanted? The Malaga raisins. Thinking of
Spain. Before Rudy was born. The phosphorescence, that bluey greeny. Very good for
the brain.
From Butler's monument house corner he glanced along Bachelor's walk. Dedalus'
daughter there still outside Dillon's auctionrooms. Must be selling off some old furniture.
Knew her eyes at once from the father. Lobbing about waiting for him. Home always
breaks up when the mother goes. Fifteen children he had. Birth every year almost. That's
in their theology or the priest won't give the poor woman the confession, the absolution.
Increase and multiply. Did you ever hear such an idea? Eat you out of house and home.
No families themselves to feed. Living on the fat of the land. Their butteries and larders.
I'd like to see them do the black fast Yom Kippur. Crossbuns. One meal and a collation
for fear he'd collapse on the altar. A housekeeper of one of those fellows if you could
pick it out of her. Never pick it out of her. Like getting l.s.d. out of him. Does himself
 
 
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