―Yes, yes, Mr Bloom said after a dull sigh. Another gone.

―One of the best, M’Coy said.

The tram passed. They drove off towards the Loop Line bridge, her rich gloved hand on the steel grip. Flicker, flicker: the laceflare of her hat in the sun: flicker, flick.

―Wife well, I suppose? M’Coy’s changed voice said.

―O yes, Mr Bloom said. Tiptop, thanks.

He unrolled the newspaper baton idly and read idly: