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a trot and the gentleman goes a gallop a gallop a gallop a
gallop.
FLORRY: (Pulls at Bello) Let me on him now. You
had enough. I asked before you.
ZOE: (Pulling at florry) Me. Me. Are you not finished
with him yet, suckeress?
BLOOM: (Stifling) Can’t.
BELLO: Well, I’m not. Wait. (He holds in his breath)
Curse it. Here. This bung’s about burst. (He uncorks himself
behind: then, contorting his features, farts loudly) Take that!
(He recorks himself) Yes, by Jingo, sixteen three quarters.
BLOOM: (A sweat breaking out over him) Not man. (He
sniffs) Woman.
BELLO: (Stands up) No more blow hot and cold. What
you longed for has come to pass. Henceforth you are
unmanned and mine in earnest, a thing under the yoke.
Now for your punishment frock. You will shed your male
garments, you understand, Ruby Cohen? and don the shot
silk luxuriously rustling over head and shoulders. And
quickly too!
BLOOM: (Shrinks) Silk, mistress said! O crinkly!
scrapy! Must I tiptouch it with my nails?
BELLO: (Points to his whores) As they are now so will
you be, wigged, singed, perfumesprayed, ricepowdered,
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with smoothshaven armpits. Tape measurements will be
taken next your skin. You will be laced with cruel force
into vicelike corsets of soft dove coutille with whalebone
busk to the diamondtrimmed pelvis, the absolute outside
edge, while your figure, plumper than when at large, will
be restrained in nettight frocks, pretty two ounce
petticoats and fringes and things stamped, of course, with
my houseflag, creations of lovely lingerie for Alice and
nice scent for Alice. Alice will feel the pullpull. Martha
and Mary will be a little chilly at first in such delicate
thighcasing but the frilly flimsiness of lace round your bare
knees will remind you ...
BLOOM: (A charming soubrette with dauby cheeks, mustard
hair and large male hands and nose, leering mouth) I tried her
things on only twice, a small prank, in Holles street. When
we were hard up I washed them to save the laundry bill.
My own shirts I turned. It was the purest thrift.
BELLO: (Jeers) Little jobs that make mother pleased,
eh? And showed off coquettishly in your domino at the
mirror behind closedrawn blinds your unskirted thighs and
hegoat’s udders in various poses of surrender, eh? Ho! ho!
I have to laugh! That secondhand black operatop shift and
short trunkleg naughties all split up the stitches at her last
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rape that Mrs Miriam Dandrade sold you from the
Shelbourne hotel, eh?
BLOOM: Miriam. Black. Demimondaine.
BELLO: (Guffaws) Christ Almighty it’s too tickling,
this! You were a nicelooking Miriam when you clipped
off your backgate hairs and lay swooning in the thing
across the bed as Mrs Dandrade about to be violated by
lieutenant Smythe-Smythe, Mr Philip Augustus Blockwell
M. P., signor Laci Daremo, the robust tenor, blueeyed
Bert, the liftboy, Henri Fleury of Gordon Bennett fame,
Sheridan, the quadroon Croesus, the varsity wetbob eight
from old Trinity, Ponto, her splendid Newfoundland and
Bobs, dowager duchess of Manorhamilton. (He guffaws
again) Christ, wouldn’t it make a Siamese cat laugh?
BLOOM: (Her hands and features working) It was Gerald
converted me to be a true corsetlover when I was female
impersonator in the High School play Vice Versa. It was
dear Gerald. He got that kink, fascinated by sister’s stays.
Now dearest Gerald uses pinky greasepaint and gilds his
eyelids. Cult of the beautiful.
BELLO: (With wicked glee) Beautiful! Give us a
breather! When you took your seat with womanish care,
lifting your billowy flounces, on the smoothworn throne.
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BLOOM: Science. To compare the various joys we
each enjoy. (Earnestly) And really it’s better the position ...
because often I used to wet ...
BELLO: (Sternly) No insubordination! The sawdust is
there in the corner for you. I gave you strict instructions,
didn’t I? Do it standing, sir! I’ll teach you to behave like a
jinkleman! If I catch a trace on your swaddles. Aha! By the
ass of the Dorans you’ll find I’m a martinet. The sins of
your past are rising against you. Many. Hundreds.
THE SINS OF THE PAST: (In a medley of voices) He
went through a form of clandestine marriage with at least
one woman in the shadow of the Black church.
Unspeakable messages he telephoned mentally to Miss
Dunn at an address in D’Olier street while he presented
himself indecently to the instrument in the callbox. By
word and deed he frankly encouraged a nocturnal
strumpet to deposit fecal and other matter in an unsanitary
outhouse attached to empty premises. In five public
conveniences he wrote pencilled messages offering his
nuptial partner to all strongmembered males. And by the
offensively smelling vitriol works did he not pass night
after night by loving courting couples to see if and what
and how much he could see? Did he not lie in bed, the
gross boar, gloating over a nauseous fragment of wellused
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