The last straw. If there were only ethereal where would you all be, postulants and novices? Shy but willing like an ass pissing.

THE YEWS: (Their silverfoil of leaves precipitating, their skinny arms aging and swaying.) Deciduously!

THE NYMPH: (Her features hardening, gropes in the folds of her habit.) Sacrilege! To attempt my virtue!

(A large moist stain appears on her robe.) Sully my innocence! You are not fit to touch the garment of a pure woman. (She clutches again in her robe.) Wait. Satan, you’ll sing no more lovesongs. Amen. Amen. Amen. Amen. (She draws a poniard and, clad in the sheathmail of an elected knight of nine, strikes at his loins.) Nekum!

BLOOM: (Starts up, seizes her hand.)