Yes.
Take this.
The end.
―You are late, he spoke hoarsely, eying her with a suspicious glare. The beautiful woman threw off her sabletrimmed wrap, displaying her queenly shoulders and heaving embonpoint. An imperceptible smile played round her perfect lips as she turned to him calmly.
Mr Bloom read again:
The beautiful woman.
Warmth showered gently over him, cowing his flesh.
Flesh yielded amid rumpled clothes. Whites of eyes swooning up. His nostrils arched themselves for prey.
- Melting breast ointments ( for him! For Raoul! )
- Armpits’ oniony sweat.
- Fishgluey slime ( her heaving embonpoint! ).
Feel! Press! Crished! Sulphur dung of lions!
Young! Young!
An elderly female, no more young, left