Terry came down and tipped him the wink to keep quiet, that they didn’t want that kind of talk in a respectable licensed premises. And Bob Doran starts doing the weeps about Paddy Dignam, true as you’re there.
―The finest man, says he, snivelling, the finest purest character.
The tear is bloody near your eye. Talking through his bloody hat. Fitter for him to go home to the little sleepwalking bitch he married, Mooney, the bumbailiff’s daughter, Mother kept a kip in Hardwicke street that used to be stravaging about the landings Bantam Lyons told me that was stopping there at two in the morning without a stitch on her, exposing her person, open to all comers, fair field and no favour.
―The noblest, the truest, says he. And he’s gone, poor little Willy, poor little Paddy Dignam.
And mournful and with a heavy heart he bewept the extinction of that beam of heaven.
Old Garryowen started growling again at Bloom that was skeezing round the door.
―Come in, come on, he won’t eat you, says the citizen.
So Bloom slopes in with his cod’s eye on the dog and he asks Terry was Martin Cunningham there.
―O, Christ M’Keown, says Joe, reading one of the letters. Listen to this, will you?
And he starts reading out one.
Honoured sir i beg to offer my services in the abovementioned painful case i hanged Joe Gann in Bootle jail on the 12 of February 1900 and i hanged …