someone else. Try the house opposite. Wait, I wanted to. I haven't yet.
Then darkened deathchamber. Light they want. Whispering around you. Would
you like to see a priest? Then rambling and wandering. Delirium all you
hid all your life. The death struggle. His sleep is not natural. Press his
lower eyelid. Watching is his nose pointed is his jaw sinking are the
soles of his feet yellow. Pull the pillow away and finish it off on the
floor since he's doomed. Devil in that picture of sinner's death showing
him a woman. Dying to embrace her in his shirt. Last act of LUCIA.
SHALL I NEVERMORE BEHOLD THEE? Bam! He expires. Gone at last. People
talk about you a bit: forget you. Don't forget to pray for him.
Remember him in your prayers. Even Parnell. Ivy day dying out. Then
they follow: dropping into a hole, one after the other.

We are praying now for the repose of his soul. Hoping you're well
and not in hell. Nice change of air. Out of the fryingpan of life into the
fire of purgatory.

Does he ever think of the hole waiting for himself? They say you do
when you shiver in the sun. Someone walking over it. Callboy's warning.
Near you. Mine over there towards Finglas, the plot I bought. Mamma,
poor mamma, and little Rudy.

The gravediggers took up their spades and flung heavy clods of clay
in on the coffin. Mr Bloom turned away his face. And if he was alive all
the time? Whew! By jingo, that would be awful! No, no: he is dead, of
course. Of course he is dead. Monday he died. They ought to have
some law to pierce the heart and make sure or an electric clock or
a telephone in the coffin and some kind of a canvas airhole. Flag of
distress. Three days. Rather long to keep them in summer. Just as well
to get shut of them as soon as you are sure there's no.