she get up?

--And he said: SAD THING ABOUT OUR POOR FRIEND PADDY! WHAT PADDY? I said.
POOR LITTLE PADDY DIGNAM, he said.

Off to the country: Broadstone probably. High brown boots with laces
dangling. Wellturned foot. What is he foostering over that change for?
Sees me looking. Eye out for other fellow always. Good fallback. Two
strings to her bow.

--WHY? I said. WHAT'S WRONG WITH HIM? I said.

Proud: rich: silk stockings.

--Yes, Mr Bloom said.

He moved a little to the side of M'Coy's talking head. Getting up in a
minute.

--WHAT'S WRONG WITH HIM? He said. HE'S DEAD, he said. And, faith, he
filled up. IS IT PADDY DIGNAM? I said. I couldn't believe it when I heard
it. I was with him no later than Friday last or Thursday was it in the
Arch. YES, he said. HE'S GONE. HE DIED ON MONDAY, POOR FELLOW. Watch!
Watch! Silk flash rich stockings white. Watch!

A heavy tramcar honking its gong slewed between.

Lost it. Curse your noisy pugnose. Feels locked out of it. Paradise and
the peri. Always happening like that. The very moment. Girl in Eustace
street hallway Monday was it settling her garter. Her friend covering the