Mr Nannetti considered the cutting a while and nodded.

―He wants it in for July, Mr Bloom said.

He doesn’t hear it. Nannan. Iron nerves.

The foreman moved his pencil towards it.

―But wait, Mr Bloom said. He wants it changed. Keyes, you see. He wants two keys at the top.

Hell of a racket they make. Maybe he understands what I.

The foreman turned round to hear patiently and, lifting an elbow, began to scratch slowly in the armpit of his alpaca jacket.