A bony form strode along the curbstone from the river staring with a rapt gaze into the sunlight through a heavystringed glass.

Tight as a skullpiece a tiny hat gripped his head. From his arm a folded dustcoat, a stick and an umbrella dangled to his stride.

Watch him, Mr Bloom said. He always walks outside the lampposts. Watch!

Who is he if it’s a fair question? Mrs Breen asked. Is he dotty?

His name is Cashel Boyle O’Connor Fitzmaurice Tisdall Farrell, Mr Bloom said smiling. Watch!

He has enough of them, she said. Denis will be like that one of these days.

She broke off suddenly.

There he is, she said. I must go after him. Goodbye. Remember me to Molly, won’t