See them sitting there stark ballocknaked eating a dead horse’s liver raw.

His postcard proved a centre of attraction for Messrs the greenhorns for several minutes if not more.

Know how to keep them off? he inquired generally.

Nobody volunteering a statement he winked, saying:

Glass. That boggles ’em. Glass.

Mr Bloom, without evincing surprise, unostentatiously turned over the card to peruse the partially obliterated address and postmark.

It ran as follows: Tarjeta Postal, Se�or A Boudin, Galeria Becche, Santiago, Chile. There was no message evidently, as he took particular notice. Though not an implicit believer in the lurid story narrated