Section 48 of 74 - Table of Contents
BLOOM: (MEANINGFULLY DROPPING HIS VOICE) I confess I'm teapot with
curiosity to find out whether some person's something is a little teapot
at present.
MRS BREEN: (GUSHINGLY) Tremendously teapot! London's teapot and I'm
simply teapot all over me! (SHE RUBS SIDES WITH HIM) After the parlour
mystery games and the crackers from the tree we sat on the staircase
ottoman. Under the mistletoe. Two is company.
BLOOM: (WEARING A PURPLE NAPOLEON HAT WITH AN AMBER HALFMOON, HIS FINGERS
AND THUMB PASSING SLOWLY DOWN TO HER SOFT MOIST MEATY PALM WHICH SHE
SURRENDERS GENTLY) The witching hour of night. I took the splinter out of
this hand, carefully, slowly. (TENDERLY, AS HE SLIPS ON HER FINGER A RUBY
RING) LA CI DAREM LA MANO.
MRS BREEN: (IN A ONEPIECE EVENING FROCK EXECUTED IN MOONLIGHT BLUE, A
TINSEL SYLPH'S DIADEM ON HER BROW WITH HER DANCECARD FALLEN BESIDE HER
MOONBLUE SATIN SLIPPER, CURVES HER PALM SOFTLY, BREATHING QUICKLY) VOGLIO
E NON. You're hot! You're scalding! The left hand nearest the heart.
BLOOM: When you made your present choice they said it was beauty and the
beast. I can never forgive you for that. (HIS CLENCHED FIST AT HIS BROW)
Think what it means. All you meant to me then. (HOARSELY) Woman, it's
breaking me!
(DENIS BREEN, WHITETALLHATTED, WITH WISDOM HELY'S SANDWICH- BOARDS,
SHUFFLES PAST THEM IN CARPET SLIPPERS, HIS DULL BEARD THRUST OUT,
MUTTERING TO RIGHT AND LEFT. LITTLE ALF BERGAN, CLOAKED IN THE PALL OF
THE ACE OF SPADES, DOGS HIM TO LEFT AND RIGHT, DOUBLED IN LAUGHTER.)
ALF BERGAN: (POINTS JEERING AT THE SANDWICHBOARDS) U. p: Up.
MRS BREEN: (TO BLOOM) High jinks below stairs. (SHE GIVES HIM THE GLAD
EYE) Why didn't you kiss the spot to make it well? You wanted to.
BLOOM: (SHOCKED) Molly's best friend! Could you?
MRS BREEN: (HER PULPY TONGUE BETWEEN HER LIPS, OFFERS A PIGEON KISS)
Hnhn. The answer is a lemon. Have you a little present for me there?
BLOOM: (OFFHANDEDLY) Kosher. A snack for supper. The home without potted
meat is incomplete. I was at LEAH. Mrs Bandmann Palmer. Trenchant
exponent of Shakespeare. Unfortunately threw away the programme. Rattling
good place round there for pigs' feet. Feel.
(RICHIE GOULDING, THREE LADIES' HATS PINNED ON HIS HEAD, APPEARS WEIGHTED
TO ONE SIDE BY THE BLACK LEGAL BAG OF COLLIS AND WARD ON WHICH A SKULL
AND CROSSBONES ARE PAINTED IN WHITE LIMEWASH. HE OPENS IT AND SHOWS IT
FULL OF POLONIES, KIPPERED HERRINGS, FINDON HADDIES AND TIGHTPACKED
PILLS.)
RICHIE: Best value in Dub.
(BALD PAT, BOTHERED BEETLE, STANDS ON THE CURBSTONE, FOLDING HIS NAPKIN,
WAITING TO WAIT.)
PAT: (ADVANCES WITH A TILTED DISH OF SPILLSPILLING GRAVY) Steak and
kidney. Bottle of lager. Hee hee hee. Wait till I wait.
RICHIE: Goodgod. Inev erate inall ...
(WITH HANGING HEAD HE MARCHES DOGGEDLY FORWARD. THE NAVVY, LURCHING BY,
GORES HIM WITH HIS FLAMING PRONGHORN.)
RICHIE: (WITH A CRY OF PAIN, HIS HAND TO HIS BACK) Ah! Bright's! Lights!
BLOOM: (POINTS TO THE NAVVY) A spy. Don't attract attention. I hate
stupid crowds. I am not on pleasure bent. I am in a grave predicament.
MRS BREEN: Humbugging and deluthering as per usual with your cock and
bull story.
BLOOM: I want to tell you a little secret about how I came to be here.
But you must never tell. Not even Molly. I have a most particular reason.
MRS BREEN: (ALL AGOG) O, not for worlds.
BLOOM: Let's walk on. Shall us?
MRS BREEN: Let's.
(THE BAWD MAKES AN UNHEEDED SIGN. BLOOM WALKS ON WITH MRS BREEN. THE
TERRIER FOLLOWS, WHINING PITEOUSLY, WAGGING HIS TAIL.)
THE BAWD: Jewman's melt!
BLOOM: (IN AN OATMEAL SPORTING SUIT, A SPRIG OF WOODBINE IN THE LAPEL,
TONY BUFF SHIRT, SHEPHERD'S PLAID SAINT ANDREW'S CROSS SCARFTIE, WHITE
SPATS, FAWN DUSTCOAT ON HIS ARM, TAWNY RED BROGUES, FIELDGLASSES IN
BANDOLIER AND A GREY BILLYCOCK HAT) Do you remember a long long time,
years and years ago, just after Milly, Marionette we called her, was
weaned when we all went together to Fairyhouse races, was it?
MRS BREEN: (IN SMART SAXE TAILORMADE, WHITE VELOURS HAT AND SPIDER VEIL)
Leopardstown.
BLOOM: I mean, Leopardstown. And Molly won seven shillings on a three
year old named Nevertell and coming home along by Foxrock in that old
fiveseater shanderadan of a waggonette you were in your heyday then and
you had on that new hat of white velours with a surround of molefur that
Mrs Hayes advised you to buy because it was marked down to nineteen and
eleven, a bit of wire and an old rag of velveteen, and I'll lay you what
you like she did it on purpose ...
MRS BREEN: She did, of course, the cat! Don't tell me! Nice adviser!
BLOOM: Because it didn't suit you one quarter as well as the other ducky
little tammy toque with the bird of paradise wing in it that I admired on
you and you honestly looked just too fetching in it though it was a pity
to kill it, you cruel naughty creature, little mite of a thing with a
heart the size of a fullstop.
MRS BREEN: (SQUEEZES HIS ARM, SIMPERS) Naughty cruel I was!
BLOOM: (LOW, SECRETLY, EVER MORE RAPIDLY) And Molly was eating a sandwich
of spiced beef out of Mrs Joe Gallaher's lunch basket. Frankly, though
she had her advisers or admirers, I never cared much for her style. She
was ...
MRS BREEN: Too ...
BLOOM: Yes. And Molly was laughing because Rogers and Maggot O'Reilly
were mimicking a cock as we passed a farmhouse and Marcus Tertius Moses,
the tea merchant, drove past us in a gig with his daughter, Dancer Moses
was her name, and the poodle in her lap bridled up and you asked me if I
ever heard or read or knew or came across ...
MRS BREEN: (EAGERLY) Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes.
(SHE FADES FROM HIS SIDE. FOLLOWED BY THE WHINING DOG HE WALKS ON TOWARDS
HELLSGATES. IN AN ARCHWAY A STANDING WOMAN, BENT FORWARD, HER FEET APART,
PISSES COWILY. OUTSIDE A SHUTTERED PUB A BUNCH OF LOITERERS LISTEN TO A
TALE WHICH THEIR BROKENSNOUTED GAFFER RASPS OUT WITH RAUCOUS HUMOUR. AN
ARMLESS PAIR OF THEM FLOP WRESTLING, GROWLING, IN MAIMED SODDEN
PLAYFIGHT.)
THE GAFFER: (CROUCHES, HIS VOICE TWISTED IN HIS SNOUT) And when Cairns
came down from the scaffolding in Beaver street what was he after doing
it into only into the bucket of porter that was there waiting on the
shavings for Derwan's plasterers.
THE LOITERERS: (GUFFAW WITH CLEFT PALATES) O jays!
(THEIR PAINTSPECKLED HATS WAG. SPATTERED WITH SIZE AND LIME OF THEIR
LODGES THEY FRISK LIMBLESSLY ABOUT HIM.)
BLOOM: Coincidence too. They think it funny. Anything but that. Broad
daylight. Trying to walk. Lucky no woman.
THE LOITERERS: Jays, that's a good one. Glauber salts. O jays, into the
men's porter.
(BLOOM PASSES. CHEAP WHORES, SINGLY, COUPLED, SHAWLED, DISHEVELLED, CALL
FROM LANES, DOORS, CORNERS.)
THE WHORES:
Are you going far, queer fellow?
How's your middle leg?
Got a match on you?
Eh, come here till I stiffen it for you.
(HE PLODGES THROUGH THEIR SUMP TOWARDS THE LIGHTED STREET BEYOND. FROM A
BULGE OF WINDOW CURTAINS A GRAMOPHONE REARS A BATTERED BRAZEN TRUNK. IN
THE SHADOW A SHEBEENKEEPER HAGGLES WITH THE NAVVY AND THE TWO REDCOATS.)
THE NAVVY: (BELCHING) Where's the bloody house?
THE SHEBEENKEEPER: Purdon street. Shilling a bottle of stout. Respectable
woman.
THE NAVVY: (GRIPPING THE TWO REDCOATS, STAGGERS FORWARD WITH THEM) Come
on, you British army!
PRIVATE CARR: (BEHIND HIS BACK) He aint half balmy.
PRIVATE COMPTON: (LAUGHS) What ho!
PRIVATE CARR: (TO THE NAVVY) Portobello barracks canteen. You ask for
Carr. Just Carr.
THE NAVVY: (SHOUTS)
We are the boys. Of Wexford.
PRIVATE COMPTON: Say! What price the sergeantmajor?
PRIVATE CARR: Bennett? He's my pal. I love old Bennett.
THE NAVVY: (SHOUTS)
The galling chain.
And free our native land.
(HE STAGGERS FORWARD, DRAGGING THEM WITH HIM. BLOOM STOPS, AT FAULT. THE
DOG APPROACHES, HIS TONGUE OUTLOLLING, PANTING)
BLOOM: Wildgoose chase this. Disorderly houses. Lord knows where they are
gone. Drunks cover distance double quick. Nice mixup. Scene at Westland
row. Then jump in first class with third ticket. Then too far. Train with
engine behind. Might have taken me to Malahide or a siding for the night
or collision. Second drink does it. Once is a dose. What am I following
him for? Still, he's the best of that lot. If I hadn't heard about Mrs
Beaufoy Purefoy I wouldn't have gone and wouldn't have met. Kismet. He'll
lose that cash. Relieving office here. Good biz for cheapjacks, organs.
What do ye lack? Soon got, soon gone. Might have lost my life too with
that mangongwheeltracktrolleyglarejuggernaut only for presence of mind.
Can't always save you, though. If I had passed Truelock's window that day
two minutes later would have been shot. Absence of body. Still if bullet
only went through my coat get damages for shock, five hundred pounds.
What was he? Kildare street club toff. God help his gamekeeper.
(HE GAZES AHEAD, READING ON THE WALL A SCRAWLED CHALK LEGEND Wet Dream
AND A PHALLIC DESIGN.) Odd! Molly drawing on the frosted carriagepane at
Kingstown. What's that like? (GAUDY DOLLWOMEN LOLL IN THE LIGHTED
DOORWAYS, IN WINDOW EMBRASURES, SMOKING BIRDSEYE CIGARETTES. THE ODOUR OF
THE SICKSWEET WEED FLOATS TOWARDS HIM IN SLOW ROUND OVALLING WREATHS.)
THE WREATHS: Sweet are the sweets. Sweets of sin.
BLOOM: My spine's a bit limp. Go or turn? And this food? Eat it and get
all pigsticky. Absurd I am. Waste of money. One and eightpence too much.
(THE RETRIEVER DRIVES A COLD SNIVELLING MUZZLE AGAINST HIS HAND, WAGGING
HIS TAIL.) Strange how they take to me. Even that brute today. Better
speak to him first. Like women they like RENCONTRES. Stinks like a
polecat. CHACUN SON GOUT. He might be mad. Dogdays. Uncertain in his
movements. Good fellow! Fido! Good fellow! Garryowen! (THE WOLFDOG
SPRAWLS ON HIS BACK, WRIGGLING OBSCENELY WITH BEGGING PAWS, HIS LONG
BLACK TONGUE LOLLING OUT.) Influence of his surroundings. Give and have
done with it. Provided nobody. (CALLING ENCOURAGING WORDS HE SHAMBLES
BACK WITH A FURTIVE POACHER'S TREAD, DOGGED BY THE SETTER INTO A DARK
STALESTUNK CORNER. HE UNROLLS ONE PARCEL AND GOES TO DUMP THE CRUBEEN
SOFTLY BUT HOLDS BACK AND FEELS THE TROTTER.) Sizeable for threepence.
But then I have it in my left hand. Calls for more effort. Why? Smaller
from want of use. O, let it slide. Two and six.
(WITH REGRET HE LETS THE UNROLLED CRUBEEN AND TROTTER SLIDE. THE MASTIFF
MAULS THE BUNDLE CLUMSILY AND GLUTS HIMSELF WITH GROWLING GREED,
CRUNCHING THE BONES. TWO RAINCAPED WATCH APPROACH, SILENT, VIGILANT. THEY
MURMUR TOGETHER.)
THE WATCH: Bloom. Of Bloom. For Bloom. Bloom.
(EACH LAYS HAND ON BLOOM'S SHOULDER.)
FIRST WATCH: Caught in the act. Commit no nuisance.
BLOOM: (STAMMERS) I am doing good to others.
(A COVEY OF GULLS, STORM PETRELS, RISES HUNGRILY FROM LIFFEY SLIME WITH
BANBURY CAKES IN THEIR BEAKS.)
THE GULLS: Kaw kave kankury kake.
BLOOM: The friend of man. Trained by kindness.
(HE POINTS. BOB DORAN, TOPPLING FROM A HIGH BARSTOOL, SWAYS OVER THE
MUNCHING SPANIEL.)
BOB DORAN: Towser. Give us the paw. Give the paw.
(THE BULLDOG GROWLS, HIS SCRUFF STANDING, A GOBBET OF PIG'S KNUCKLE
BETWEEN HIS MOLARS THROUGH WHICH RABID SCUMSPITTLE DRIBBLES. BOB DORAN
FILLS SILENTLY INTO AN AREA.)
SECOND WATCH: Prevention of cruelty to animals.
BLOOM: (ENTHUSIASTICALLY) A noble work! I scolded that tramdriver on
Harold's cross bridge for illusing the poor horse with his harness scab.
Bad French I got for my pains. Of course it was frosty and the last tram.
All tales of circus life are highly demoralising.
(SIGNOR MAFFEI, PASSIONPALE, IN LIONTAMER'S COSTUME WITH DIAMOND STUDS IN
HIS SHIRTFRONT, STEPS FORWARD, HOLDING A CIRCUS PAPERHOOP, A CURLING
CARRIAGEWHIP AND A REVOLVER WITH WHICH HE COVERS THE GORGING BOARHOUND.)
SIGNOR MAFFEI: (WITH A SINISTER SMILE) Ladies and gentlemen, my educated
greyhound. It was I broke in the bucking broncho Ajax with my patent
spiked saddle for carnivores. Lash under the belly with a knotted thong.
Block tackle and a strangling pulley will bring your lion to heel, no
matter how fractious, even LEO FEROX there, the Libyan maneater. A redhot
crowbar and some liniment rubbing on the burning part produced Fritz of
Amsterdam, the thinking hyena. (HE GLARES) I possess the Indian sign. The
glint of my eye does it with these breastsparklers. (WITH A BEWITCHING
SMILE) I now introduce Mademoiselle Ruby, the pride of the ring.
FIRST WATCH: Come. Name and address.
BLOOM: I have forgotten for the moment. Ah, yes! (HE TAKES OFF HIS HIGH
GRADE HAT, SALUTING) Dr Bloom, Leopold, dental surgeon. You have heard of
von Blum Pasha. Umpteen millions. DONNERWETTER! Owns half Austria. Egypt.
Cousin.
FIRST WATCH: Proof.
(A CARD FALLS FROM INSIDE THE LEATHER HEADBAND OF BLOOM'S HAT.)
BLOOM: (IN RED FEZ, CADI'S DRESS COAT WITH BROAD GREEN SASH, WEARING A
FALSE BADGE OF THE LEGION OF HONOUR, PICKS UP THE CARD HASTILY AND OFFERS
IT) Allow me. My club is the Junior Army and Navy. Solicitors: Messrs
John Henry Menton, 27 Bachelor's Walk.
FIRST WATCH: (READS) Henry Flower. No fixed abode. Unlawfully watching
and besetting.
SECOND WATCH: An alibi. You are cautioned.
BLOOM: (PRODUCES FROM HIS HEARTPOCKET A CRUMPLED YELLOW FLOWER) This is
the flower in question. It was given me by a man I don't know his name.
(PLAUSIBLY) You know that old joke, rose of Castile. Bloom. The change of
name. Virag. (HE MURMURS PRIVATELY AND CONFIDENTIALLY) We are engaged you
see, sergeant. Lady in the case. Love entanglement. (HE SHOULDERS THE
SECOND WATCH GENTLY) Dash it all. It's a way we gallants have in the
navy. Uniform that does it. (HE TURNS GRAVELY TO THE FIRST WATCH) Still,
of course, you do get your Waterloo sometimes. Drop in some evening and
have a glass of old Burgundy. (TO THE SECOND WATCH GAILY) I'll introduce
you, inspector. She's game. Do it in the shake of a lamb's tail.
(A DARK MERCURIALISED FACE APPEARS, LEADING A VEILED FIGURE.)
THE DARK MERCURY: The Castle is looking for him. He was drummed out of
the army.
MARTHA: (THICKVEILED, A CRIMSON HALTER ROUND HER NECK, A COPY OF THE
Irish Times IN HER HAND, IN TONE OF REPROACH, POINTING) Henry! Leopold!
Lionel, thou lost one! Clear my name.
FIRST WATCH: (STERNLY) Come to the station.
BLOOM: (SCARED, HATS HIMSELF, STEPS BACK, THEN, PLUCKING AT HIS HEART AND
LIFTING HIS RIGHT FOREARM ON THE SQUARE, HE GIVES THE SIGN AND DUEGUARD
OF FELLOWCRAFT) No, no, worshipful master, light of love. Mistaken
identity. The Lyons mail. Lesurques and Dubosc. You remember the Childs
fratricide case. We medical men. By striking him dead with a hatchet. I
am wrongfully accused. Better one guilty escape than ninetynine
wrongfully condemned.
MARTHA: (SOBBING BEHIND HER VEIL) Breach of promise. My real name is
Peggy Griffin. He wrote to me that he was miserable. I'll tell my
brother, the Bective rugger fullback, on you, heartless flirt.
BLOOM: (BEHIND HIS HAND) She's drunk. The woman is inebriated. (HE
MURMURS VAGUELY THE PASS OF EPHRAIM) Shitbroleeth.
SECOND WATCH: (TEARS IN HIS EYES, TO BLOOM) You ought to be thoroughly
well ashamed of yourself.
BLOOM: Gentlemen of the jury, let me explain. A pure mare's nest. I am a
man misunderstood. I am being made a scapegoat of. I am a respectable
married man, without a stain on my character. I live in Eccles street. My
wife, I am the daughter of a most distinguished commander, a gallant
upstanding gentleman, what do you call him, Majorgeneral Brian Tweedy,
one of Britain's fighting men who helped to win our battles. Got his
majority for the heroic defence of Rorke's Drift.
FIRST WATCH: Regiment.
BLOOM: (TURNS TO THE GALLERY) The royal Dublins, boys, the salt of the
earth, known the world over. I think I see some old comrades in arms up
there among you. The R. D. F., with our own Metropolitan police,
guardians of our homes, the pluckiest lads and the finest body of men, as
physique, in the service of our sovereign.
A VOICE: Turncoat! Up the Boers! Who booed Joe Chamberlain?
BLOOM: (HIS HAND ON THE SHOULDER OF THE FIRST WATCH) My old dad too was a
J. P. I'm as staunch a Britisher as you are, sir. I fought with the
colours for king and country in the absentminded war under general Gough
in the park and was disabled at Spion Kop and Bloemfontein, was mentioned
in dispatches. I did all a white man could. (WITH QUIET FEELING) Jim
Bludso. Hold her nozzle again the bank.
FIRST WATCH: Profession or trade.
BLOOM: Well, I follow a literary occupation, author-journalist. In fact
we are just bringing out a collection of prize stories of which I am the
inventor, something that is an entirely new departure. I am connected
with the British and Irish press. If you ring up ...
(MYLES CRAWFORD STRIDES OUT JERKILY, A QUILL BETWEEN HIS TEETH. HIS
SCARLET BEAK BLAZES WITHIN THE AUREOLE OF HIS STRAW HAT. HE DANGLES A
HANK OF SPANISH ONIONS IN ONE HAND AND HOLDS WITH THE OTHER HAND A
TELEPHONE RECEIVER NOZZLE TO HIS EAR.)
MYLES CRAWFORD: (HIS COCK'S WATTLES WAGGING) Hello, seventyseven
eightfour. Hello. FREEMAN'S URINAL and WEEKLY ARSEWIPE here. Paralyse
Europe. You which? Bluebags? Who writes? Is it Bloom?
(MR PHILIP BEAUFOY, PALEFACED, STANDS IN THE WITNESSBOX, IN ACCURATE
MORNING DRESS, OUTBREAST POCKET WITH PEAK OF HANDKERCHIEF SHOWING,
CREASED LAVENDER TROUSERS AND PATENT BOOTS. HE CARRIES A LARGE PORTFOLIO
LABELLED Matcham's Masterstrokes.)
BEAUFOY: (DRAWLS) No, you aren't. Not by a long shot if I know it. I
don't see it that's all. No born gentleman, no-one with the most
rudimentary promptings of a gentleman would stoop to such particularly
loathsome conduct. One of those, my lord. A plagiarist. A soapy sneak
masquerading as a litterateur. It's perfectly obvious that with the most
inherent baseness he has cribbed some of my bestselling copy, really
gorgeous stuff, a perfect gem, the love passages in which are beneath
suspicion. The Beaufoy books of love and great possessions, with which
your lordship is doubtless familiar, are a household word throughout the
kingdom.
BLOOM: (MURMURS WITH HANGDOG MEEKNESS GLUM) That bit about the laughing
witch hand in hand I take exception to, if I may ...
BEAUFOY: (HIS LIP UPCURLED, SMILES SUPERCILIOUSLY ON THE COURT) You funny
ass, you! You're too beastly awfully weird for words! I don't think you
need over excessively disincommodate yourself in that regard. My literary
agent Mr J. B. Pinker is in attendance. I presume, my lord, we shall
receive the usual witnesses' fees, shan't we? We are considerably out of
pocket over this bally pressman johnny, this jackdaw of Rheims, who has
not even been to a university.
BLOOM: (INDISTINCTLY) University of life. Bad art.
BEAUFOY: (SHOUTS) It's a damnably foul lie, showing the moral rottenness
of the man! (HE EXTENDS HIS PORTFOLIO) We have here damning evidence, the
CORPUS DELICTI, my lord, a specimen of my maturer work disfigured by the
hallmark of the beast.
A VOICE FROM THE GALLERY:
Moses, Moses, king of the jews,
Wiped his arse in the Daily News.
BLOOM: (BRAVELY) Overdrawn.
BEAUFOY: You low cad! You ought to be ducked in the horsepond, you
rotter! (TO THE COURT) Why, look at the man's private life! Leading a
quadruple existence! Street angel and house devil. Not fit to be
mentioned in mixed society! The archconspirator of the age!
BLOOM: (TO THE COURT) And he, a bachelor, how ...
FIRST WATCH: The King versus Bloom. Call the woman Driscoll.
THE CRIER: Mary Driscoll, scullerymaid!
(MARY DRISCOLL, A SLIPSHOD SERVANT GIRL, APPROACHES. SHE HAS A BUCKET ON
THE CROOK OF HER ARM AND A SCOURINGBRUSH IN HER HAND.)
SECOND WATCH: Another! Are you of the unfortunate class?
MARY DRISCOLL: (INDIGNANTLY) I'm not a bad one. I bear a respectable
character and was four months in my last place. I was in a situation, six
pounds a year and my chances with Fridays out and I had to leave owing to
his carryings on.
FIRST WATCH: What do you tax him with?
MARY DRISCOLL: He made a certain suggestion but I thought more of myself
as poor as I am.
BLOOM: (IN HOUSEJACKET OF RIPPLECLOTH, FLANNEL TROUSERS, HEELLESS
SLIPPERS, UNSHAVEN, HIS HAIR RUMPLED: SOFTLY) I treated you white. I gave
you mementos, smart emerald garters far above your station. Incautiously
I took your part when you were accused of pilfering. There's a medium in
all things. Play cricket.
MARY DRISCOLL: (EXCITEDLY) As God is looking down on me this night if
ever I laid a hand to them oysters!
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