Bloom:  (Infatuated) Empress!

Bello:  (His heavy CHEEKCHOPS sagging) Adorer of the adulterous rump!

Bloom:  (Plaintively) Hugeness!

Bello:  Dungdevourer!

Bloom:  (With sinews SEMIFLEXED) Magmagnificence!

Bello:  Down! (He Taps her on the shoulder with his fan) Incline feet forward!  Slide left foot one pace back!  You will fall.  You are falling.  On the hands down!

Bloom:  (Her eyes upturned in the sign of admiration, closing, YAPS)
Truffles!

(With A piercing epileptic cry she Sinks on all fours, grunting,
snuffling, rooting at his feet:  Then lies, shamming dead, with eyes shut
tight, trembling eyelids, bowed upon the ground in the attitude of most
excellent master.)

Bello:  (With bobbed hair, purple gills, fit moustache rings round his shaven mouth, in MOUNTAINEER’S puttees, green SILVERBUTTONED coat, sport skirt and Alpine hat with MOORCOCK’S feather, his hands stuck deep in his breeches pockets, places his heel on her neck and grinds it in) Footstool!  Feel my entire weight.  Bow, bondslave, before the throne of your despot’s glorious heels so glistening in their proud erectness.

Bloom:  (Enthralled, bleats) I promise never to disobey.

Bello:  (Laughs loudly) Holy smoke!  You little know what’s in store for you.  I’m the Tartar to settle your little lot and break you in!  I’ll bet Kentucky cocktails all round I shame it out of you, old son.  Cheek me, I dare you.  If you do tremble in anticipation of heel discipline to be inflicted in gym costume.

(Bloom creeps under the sofa and peers out through the fringe.)

Zoe:  (Widening her slip to screen her) She’s not here.

Bloom:  (Closing her eyes) She’s not here.

Florry:  (Hiding her with her gown) She didn’t mean it, Mr Bello.  She’ll be good, sir.

Kitty:  Don’t be too hard on her, Mr Bello.  Sure you won’t, ma’amsir.