Egg two evidently demolished, he nodded and winked, adding bloodthirstily:
―Buffalo Bill shoots to kill, Never missed nor he never will.
A silence ensued till Mr Bloom for agreeableness’ sake just felt like asking him whether it was for a marksmanship competition like the Bisley.
―Beg pardon, the sailor said.
―Long ago? Mr Bloom pursued without flinching a hairsbreadth.
―Why, the sailor replied, relaxing to a certain extent under the magic influence of diamond cut diamond, it might be a matter of ten years. He toured the wide world with Hengler’s Royal Circus. I seen him do that in Stockholm.
―Curious coincidence, Mr Bloom confided to Stephen unobtrusively.
―Murphy’s my name, the sailor continued, W. B. Murphy, of Carrigaloe. Know where that is?
―Queenstown Harbour, Stephen replied.
―That’s right, the sailor said. Fort Camden and Fort Carlisle. That’s where I hails from. My little woman’s down there. She’s waiting for me, I know. For England, home and beauty. She’s my own true wife I haven’t seen for seven years now, sailing about.
Mr Bloom could easily picture his advent on this scene—the homecoming to the mariner’s roadside shieling after having diddled Davy Jones—a rainy night with a blind moon. Across the world for a wife. Quite a number of stories there were on that particular Alice Ben Bolt topic, Enoch Arden and Rip van Winkle and does anybody