―Casement, says the citizen. He’s an Irishman.

―Yes, that’s the man, says J. J. Raping the women and girls and flogging the natives on the belly to squeeze all the red rubber they can out of them.

―I know where he’s gone, says Lenehan, cracking his fingers.

―Who? says I.

―Bloom, says he, the courthouse is a blind. He had a few bob on Throwaway and he’s gone to gather in the shekels.

―Is it that whiteeyed kaffir? says the citizen, that never backed a horse in anger in his life.