wheeling by Farrell's statue united noiselessly their unresisting knees.

Oot: a dullgarbed old man from the curbstone tendered his wares, his
mouth opening: oot.

--Four bootlaces for a penny.

Wonder why he was struck off the rolls. Had his office in Hume
street. Same house as Molly's namesake, Tweedy, crown solicitor for
Waterford. Has that silk hat ever since. Relics of old decency. Mourning
too. Terrible comedown, poor wretch! Kicked about like snuff at a wake.
O'Callaghan on his last legs.

And MADAME. Twenty past eleven. Up. Mrs Fleming is in to clean.
Doing her hair, humming. VOGLIO E NON VORREI. No. VORREI E NON. Looking
at the tips of her hairs to see if they are split. MI TREMA UN POCO IL.
Beautiful on that TRE her voice is: weeping tone. A thrush. A throstle.
There is a word throstle that expresses that.

His eyes passed lightly over Mr Power's goodlooking face. Greyish
over the ears. MADAME: smiling. I smiled back. A smile goes a long way.
Only politeness perhaps. Nice fellow. Who knows is that true about the
woman he keeps? Not pleasant for the wife. Yet they say, who was it told
me, there is no carnal. You would imagine that would get played out pretty
quick. Yes, it was Crofton met him one evening bringing her a pound of
rumpsteak. What is this she was? Barmaid in Jury's. Or the Moira, was it?

They passed under the hugecloaked Liberator's form.

Martin Cunningham nudged Mr Power.