(With a squeak she flaps her bat shawl and runs. A burly rough pursues with booted strides. He stumbles on the steps, recovers, plunges into gloom. Weak squeaks of laughter are heard, weaker.)

THE BAWD: (Her wolfeyes shining.) He’s getting his pleasure.

You won’t get a virgin in the flash houses. Ten shillings. Don’t be all night before the polis in plain clothes sees us. Sixtyseven is a bitch.

(Leering, Gerty Macdowell limps forward. She draws from behind, ogling, and shows coyly her bloodied clout.)

GERTY: With all my worldly goods I thee and thou. (She murmurs.) You did that. I hate you.

BLOOM: I? When? You’re dreaming. I never saw you.