At the corner of Wilde’s he halted, frowned at Elijah’s name announced on the Metropolitan Hall, frowned at the distant pleasance of duke’s lawn. His eyeglass flashed frowning in the sun. With ratsteeth bared he muttered:

― Coactus volui.

He strode on for Clare street, grinding his fierce word.

As he strode past Mr Bloom’s dental windows the sway of his dustcoat brushed rudely from its angle a slender tapping cane and swept onwards, having buffeted a thewless body. The blind stripling turned his sickly face after the striding form.

―God’s curse on you, he said sourly, whoever you are! You’re blinder nor I am, you bitch’s bastard!