Ulysses by James Joyce Chapter 9 Page 50

Voluble, dutiful, he led the way to all the provincial papers, a bowing dark figure following his hasty heels.

The door closed.

The sheeny! Buck Mulligan cried.

He jumped up and snatched the card.

What’s his name? Ikey Moses? Bloom.

He rattled on:

Jehovah, collector of prepuces, is no more. I found him over in the museum where I went to hail the foamborn Aphrodite. The Greek mouth that has never been twisted in prayer. Every day we must do homage to her. Life of life, thy lips enkindle.

Suddenly he turned to Stephen:

He knows you. He knows your old fellow. O, I fear me, he is