Bald deaf Pat brought quite flat pad ink.  Pat set with ink pen quite flat pad.  Pat took plate dish knife fork.  Pat went.

It was the only language Mr Dedalus said to Ben.  He heard them as a boy in Ringabella, Crosshaven, Ringabella, singing their barcaroles.  Queenstown harbour full of Italian ships.  Walking, you know, Ben, in the moonlight with those earthquake hats.  Blending their voices.  God, such music, Ben.  Heard as a boy.  Cross Ringabella haven mooncarole.

Sour pipe removed he held a shield of hand beside his lips that cooed a moonlight nightcall, clear from anear, a call from afar, replying.

Down the edge of his Freeman baton ranged Bloom’s, your other eye, scanning for where did I see that.  Callan, Coleman, Dignam Patrick.  Heigho!  Heigho!  Fawcett.  Aha!  Just I was looking ...

Hope he’s not looking, cute as a rat.  He held unfurled his Freeman.  Can’t see now.  Remember write Greek ees.  Bloom dipped, Bloo mur:  dear sir.  Dear Henry wrote:  dear Mady.  Got your lett and flow.  Hell did I put?  Some pock or oth.  It is utterl imposs.  Underline imposs.  To write today.

Bore this.  Bored Bloom tambourined gently with I am just reflecting fingers on flat pad Pat brought.

On.  Know what I mean.  No, change that ee.  Accep my poor litt pres enclos.  Ask her no answ.  Hold on.  Five Dig.  Two about here.  Penny the gulls.  Elijah is com.  Seven Davy Byrne’s.  Is eight about.  Say half a crown.  My poor little pres:  p. o. two and six.  Write me a long.  Do you despise?  Jingle, have you the?  So excited.  Why do you call me naught?  You naughty too?  O, Mairy lost the string of her.  Bye for today.  Yes, yes, will tell you.  Want to.  To keep it up.  Call me that other.  Other world she wrote.  My patience are exhaust.  To keep it up.  You must believe.  Believe.  The tank.  It.  Is.  True.

Folly am I writing?  Husbands don’t.  That’s marriage does, their wives.  Because I’m away from.  Suppose.  But how?  She must.  Keep young.  If she found out.  Card in my high grade ha.  No, not tell all.  Useless pain.  If they don’t see.  Woman.  Sauce for the gander.

A hackney car, number three hundred and twentyfour, driver Barton James of number one Harmony avenue, Donnybrook, on which sat a fare, a young gentleman, stylishly dressed in an indigoblue serge suit made by George Robert Mesias, tailor and cutter, of number five Eden quay, and wearing a straw hat very dressy, bought of John Plasto of number one Great Brunswick street, hatter.  Eh?  This is the jingle that joggled and jingled.  By Dlugacz’ porkshop bright tubes of Agendath trotted a gallantbuttocked mare.

—­Answering an ad? keen Richie’s eyes asked Bloom.

—­Yes, Mr Bloom said.  Town traveller.  Nothing doing, I expect.