The bawd: Ten shillings a maidenhead.
Fresh thing was never touched.
Fifteen. There’s no-one in it only her old father that’s dead drunk.
(She points. In the gap
of her dark den furtive, RAINBEDRAGGLED,
Bridie: Hatch street. Any good in your mind?
(With A squeak she flaps her
bat shawl and runs. A burly
with booted strides. He stumbles on the steps, recovers, plunges into
gloom. Weak squeaks of laughter are heard, weaker.)
The bawd: (Her WOLFEYES shining) He’s getting his pleasure. You won’t get a virgin in the flash houses. Ten shillings. Don’t be all night before the polis in plain clothes sees us. Sixtyseven is a bitch.
(Leering, Gerty MACDOWELL limps forward.
She draws from behind, ogling,
and shows coyly her bloodied clout.)
Gerty: With all my worldly goods I thee and thou. (She murmurs) You did that. I hate you.
Bloom: I? When? You’re dreaming. I never saw you.
The bawd: Leave the gentleman alone, you cheat. Writing the gentleman false letters. Streetwalking and soliciting. Better for your mother take the strap to you at the bedpost, hussy like you.
Gerty: (To bloom) When you saw all the secrets of my bottom drawer. (She paws his sleeve, slobbering) Dirty married man! I love you for doing that to me.
(She glides away crookedly. Mrs Breen in man’s frieze overcoat with loose bellows pockets, stands in the causeway, her roguish eyes WIDEOPEN, smiling in all her herbivorous BUCKTEETH.)
Mrs Breen: Mr ...
Bloom: (Coughs gravely) Madam, when we last had this pleasure by letter dated the sixteenth instant ...
Mrs Breen: Mr Bloom! You down here in the haunts of sin! I caught you nicely! Scamp!
Bloom: (Hurriedly) Not so loud my name. Whatever do you think of me? Don’t give me away. Walls have ears. How do you do? It’s ages since I. You’re looking splendid. Absolutely it. Seasonable weather we are having this time of year. Black refracts heat. Short cut home here. Interesting quarter. Rescue of fallen women. Magdalen asylum. I am the secretary ...