Ulysses by James Joyce Chapter 11 Page 8

dusky battered plate, for Raoul.

The boots to them, them in the bar, them barmaids came. For them unheeding him he banged on the counter his tray of chattering china. And

There’s your teas, he said.

Miss Kennedy with manners transposed the teatray down to an upturned lithia crate, safe from eyes, low.

What is it? loud boots unmannerly asked.

Find out, miss Douce retorted, leaving her spyingpoint.

Your beau, is it?

A haughty bronze replied:

I’ll complain to Mrs de Massey on you if I hear any more of your impertinent insolence.