Ulysses by James Joyce Chapter 10 Page 38

He slapped a piebald haunch quivering near him and cried:

Woa, sonny!

He turned to J. J. O’Molloy and asked:

Well, Jack. What is it? What’s the trouble? Wait awhile. Hold hard.

With gaping mouth and head far back he stood still and, after an instant, sneezed loudly.

Chow! he said. Blast you!

The dust from those sacks, J. J. O’Molloy said politely.

No, Ned Lambert gasped, I caught a... cold night before... blast your soul... night before last... and there was a hell of a lot of draught...

He held his handkerchief ready for the coming...