Chapter 4 Chapter Four

Mr. Leopold Bloom ate cattle and poultry offal with great relish.He likes rich offal soup, chewy gizzards, stuffed and simmered hearts, breaded liver slices and fried hen roe.He especially loves lamb kidneys roasted on the grill.The faint smell subtly stimulated his sense of taste. Kidneys were on his mind as he paced lightly about the kitchen arranging her breakfast food on the raised tray.In the kitchen, the light and air were cold, but the outdoors was filled with the warmth of a summer morning, which made him feel a little hungry. The coals were burning red. Another slice of bread and butter, three, four, and there you go.She doesn't like to overfill her plate.Averting his eyes from the tray, he took the kettle off the hob and sat it on its side over the fire.Kettle squatted there bored, pouted.Tea will be ready soon.Pretty good.Thirsty.

The cat, with its tail raised high and its body tensed, walked around a table leg. "Meow!" "Oh, there you are," said Mr Bloom, turning from the fire. The cat replied "Squint", then tensed up again, circled the legs of the table, squawking all the way.It does the same thing as it walks across my desk.Pululu.Scratch your head for me.Pululu. Mr. Bloom gazed curiously at its limp black form, clean looking, with its lustrous silky fur, a white button at the base of its tail, and its green eyes gleaming.Putting his hands on his knees, he bent over it. "The kitten wants milk," he said.

"Meow!" the cat called out. Everyone says cats are stupid.In fact, they understand our words better than we understand them.Whatever it wants to understand, it understands omnipotently.It is vengeful and cruel by nature.The strange thing is that the mouse never chirped, as if it liked cats quite a lot.I really want to know what I look like to it.Is it as tall as a tower?No, it can jump over me. "It's afraid of chickens," he said jokingly, "of clucking chickens. I've never seen a kitten as stupid as Kitten." "Meow!" said the cat loudly. Its greedy eyes, which had been closed shyly, were now blinking, and it whined in a drawn-out tone, showing its milky white teeth.He watched its dark slits narrow greedily, becoming like a pair of emeralds.Then he went to the sideboard, took the jug that Hanlon's milkman had just filled for him, poured out a small saucer of warm, bubbling milk, and dropped it slowly on the floor. .

"Cluck!" the cat yelled and ran over to lick it. It bent down to touch it three times before it began to lick lightly, its mustache shining like steel wire in the dim light.While watching, he wondered if he said that if he cut off the cat's mustache, it would no longer be able to catch mice.Why is this?Maybe it's because the tip of its mustache glows in the dark.Or it acts like tentacles in the dark. He listened to the sound of it creaking and licking.Make ham and eggs, but don't.The weather is so dry, there are no delicious eggs.What is lacking is fresh water.Well, on Thursday, Buckley's wouldn't have any good lamb kidneys that day.After frying with butter, sprinkle with pepper noodles.While the water is boiling, it's better to buy a pork kidney at the Drugatz butcher's.The cat slowed down and licked the dish clean.Why is a cat's tongue so rough?There are air holes on the top, which is convenient for licking.Is there anything it can eat?He looked around.No.

In his slightly squeaky boots, he climbed the stairs, walked to the hallway, and stopped in front of the bedroom door.She might want something tasty.In the morning she liked thin slices of bread with butter.Maybe an occasional switch, though. He whispered in the empty passage: "I'll go around the corner and be back in a minute." Hearing his own voice say this, he added, "Would you like something for breakfast?" A half-asleep voice muttered softly: "Well." No, she wants nothing.At this moment, he heard a deep, warm sigh.She turned over, and the loose brass rings of the bed frame clanked and rattled.The sigh subsided.Really need someone to fix the brass ring.pitiful.Or shipped all the way from Gibraltar.Her little Spanish was forgotten too.Not sure how much her father spent on the bed, it was old fashioned.Ah, yes, of course.It was bought within a few rounds of an auction held at the Doge's Palace.Old Tweedy was a good bargainer.yes sir.That was in Pleven[2].I'm a soldier, sir, and proud of it.He is so smart that he has monopolized the stamp business.This was prescient.

He reached down and took the hat off the hook.Hanging below that was a heavy pen embroidered with my initials and a raincoat I bought from the lost and found office.stamp.Picture of glue on the back.There are not a few officers who have benefited from it.Of course.The sweat-soaked trademark on the inside of his hat told him silently that it was a high-end Plastor hat.He glanced at the band of tan leather stretched across the lining of the hat.A sheet of white paper [3] is clipped there quite securely. Standing on the steps of the door, he fumbled in the back pocket of his trousers, looking for the door key.Hey, not here, in the pants I took off.Gotta get it.The potatoes [4] are still there.The closet creaked all the time, and there was no reason to bother her.She was still sleepy when she turned over just now.He closed the gate quietly, and pulled it tighter until the lower sheath covered the threshold lightly, like a soft eyelid.It seems to be closed.Anyway, before I come back, I can rest assured.

He dodged the loose slabs of the cellar at number seventy-five and stepped over to the sunny side of the road.The sun snapped over the spire of George's Chapel.It is estimated that it will be quite warm today.Wearing this black suit makes me feel even hotter.Black is heat-transferring, perhaps reflecting (or is it refracting?) heat.But I can't go in light-colored clothes.It was like going on a picnic.He paced around in the warmth brimming with happiness, often closing his eyelids peacefully.The van at Bolan Foods was delivering the same day's bread on trays, but she preferred the next day's bread, the sides were toasted hot, the crust was charred and crispy, and it tasted like rejuvenated.In the early morning, somewhere in the east, set out at dawn, and race around in the sun to win a day's journey.It stands to reason that if you keep going like this forever, you won't grow old for a day.Walk all the way along the shore of the foreign land, and come to a city gate.There was an elderly sentry there, also from the army, with a mustache like old Tweedy's, leaning on a pike gun, walking across the covered street.Faces in turbans walked by.In a dark rug shop, a tall and terrifying Turk sits cross-legged, smoking a corkscrew pipe.The street is full of hawkers' cries.Drink that aniseed water, chilled juice.Walk around all day long.Maybe we'll run into a robber or two.Well, it happens when it happens.The sun was about to set.The shadow of the mosque is cast between a cluster of columns.Monk holding scriptures.The branches trembled, a signal that the evening wind was coming.I walk over.The golden sky gradually dimmed.A mother stood at the door and looked at me.She called the children home in difficult language.Strings sounded from behind the high walls.The night sky, the moon, violet, the color of Molly's new garter; the sound of the strings.listen.A girl is playing a musical instrument - what is it called?Big dulcimer.I walked over.

Actually, maybe that's not the case at all.You can read about following the orbit of the sun in books.On the title page is a bright sun.He was secretly pleased and smiled.Arthur Griffiths[6] has mentioned the editorial festoons of The Freeman[7]: The Self-Governing Sun Rises in the NW Lane Behind the Bank of Ireland.He continued to smile happily.There is a Jewish tinge to this statement, and the self-governing sun rises in the northwest. He approached Larry O'Rourke's hotel.The smell of stale stout wafted through the latticed windows of the cellar.From the open door of the hotel came the smell of ginger ale, tea leaves, and mushy biscuits.However this is a good hotel just off the end of the city traffic.For example, the Maori bar in front is not in good shape.Of course, if a tramway was built along the North Ring Road from the livestock market to the wharf, the land price would skyrocket.

A bald head poked above the awning, a shrewd and eccentric old man.It was no use persuading him to advertise[8].But he knows business best.Look, that must be him.My bold Larry, who rolled up his shirt-sleeves, leaned against the sugar box, and watched the aproned boy mopping the floor with buckets and mops.Simon Dedalus rolled his eyes like that, and imitated him very well.Do you know what I'm going to tell you? —Oh, Mr. O'Rourke? —You know, for the Japanese, killing those Russians is as easy as having breakfast at eight o'clock. [10] Stop and have a word with him, about the funeral or something. —Mr. O'Rourke, how sad is poor Dignam.

He turned into Dorset Street, and greeted the inside of the doorway with vigor: "Mr. O'Rourke, hello." "Hello." "What a fine day, sir." "is not it." How on earth do they make money?When they came into town from County Leitrim, they were just red-haired fellows rinsing empty bottles in the cellar, and saving what the customers had left in their glasses.Then, lo and behold, in no time they prospered and became rich like Adam Findleters or Dan Tallones.The competition is fierce, but everyone is addicted to alcohol.It is even more difficult to walk through the streets of Dublin without encountering a liquor store.Savings are out of the question.Maybe just plan on the drunk.For the capital of three shillings, get back five shillings.A small amount is all right, a shilling here, a shilling there, save it bit by bit.I probably accept orders from wholesalers, too.Colluding with those orderers in the city, you pay the boss, and the rest of the profit is added to the five, understand?

How much can you make on stout each month?Calculated by ten barrels, the net profit will be 10%.No, more, fifteen percent.He walked past St. Joseph Public Elementary School.The little ghosts made a noise.The windows were wide open.Fresh air helps memory, and maybe singing.Hey, beep, 呋 唏 呋 、, KazakhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhAre they boys?Yes.Inishturk, Inishak, and Inishbofen [14] are in geography class.It's mine.Bloom Hill [15]. He stopped in front of Drugatz's window and stared straight at the bundles of black and white mottled, half-cooked dry sausages.Each bundle is counted as fifteen, how many should it be?The numbers were blurred in his mind and he couldn't figure them out.He resignedly let them disappear.He salivated at the bundles of shiny sausages stuffed with spiced minced meat, and peacefully inhaled the warm breath from the spiced pig's blood. The last pair of kidneys oozing sticky blood on the willow-patterned plate.He made his way to the counter, in line behind the neighbor's maid.She read the item on the piece of paper in her hand.Do you also buy kidneys?Her hands are chapped.It must be made by using alkali when washing things.I want a pound and a half of Danny's sausage.His eyes fell on her firm buttocks.Her owner's last name is Woods.I don't know what he has done.His wife is getting old.This is the blood of youth.No one is allowed to follow behind.She has a pair of strong arms, thumping the rug on the clothesline.Gee, she beats so hard, and her crooked skirt sways to and fro as she slaps. The butcher shop owner with ferret eyes pinches off joints of sausage with his scarred, sausage-pink fingers and folds them together.How fresh the meat was, like a heifer calf raised in a pen. He took a sheet from the stack of cut newspapers.There are photographs of a model farm at Kinneret on Lake Tiberias[16].It can be an ideal winter retreat.The name of the farmer, I remember, was Moses Montefiore.A walled farmhouse with a blur of grazing cattle.He looked at the piece of paper from a distance, which was very interesting.Then read a little closer, the title, and the blurry grazing cows.Newspapers rustled.A white cow calf.At the cattle market[18] the animals were bleating in the pen every morning.The branded sheep are shitting.The breeders walked up and down on the bedding in their hobnailed boots, and slapped the fat hind legs really loudly.In their hands they carried whips of unpeeled twigs.He tilted the newspaper patiently, while his senses and thoughts, and the soft gaze governed by it, were all focused on another point: with each slap, the crooked skirt swung, boom, boom, boom. The butcher shop owner quickly picked up two newspapers from the pile, wrapped her good sausage, and grinned red-faced. "All right, ma'am," he said. She smiled rudely, stretched out her fat neck, and handed over a coin. "Thank you, ma'am. I'll give you a shilling and threepence. What would you like?" Mr. Bloom pointed quickly.If she walked slowly, she could still catch up, and follow her trembling ham-like hips.The first case in the morning is a feast for the eyes.Come on, fuck it.When the sun is good, dry the grass.She stood outside the store in the sunlight for a while, then walked lazily to the right.He let out a long sigh through his nose, they will never understand people's minds.Both hands were chapped by alkali.Hard scabs form on toenails.The tattered brown sleeveless overalls protected her front and back. [19] Because of being ignored, he felt a pain in his heart, which gradually turned into a faint pleasure.She belonged to another man, and the off-duty policeman hugged her on Eccles Street.They like big guys[20].Good salami.Please, Mr. Policeman, I've lost my way in the woods. [twenty one] "It's threepence, sir." He took the sticky soft waist in his hands and slid it into his side pocket.Then he took out three coins from his trouser pocket and placed them on the pockmarked rubber tray.After putting down the money, he quickly glanced over it, and slid one by one into the cash drawer. "Thank you, sir. Please take good care of me." There was an earnest light in the fox-like eyes, and he thanked him.He looked away immediately.No, it's best not to mention it. Let's talk about it next time. [twenty two] "Goodbye," he said, walking away. "Goodbye, sir." Gone without a trace.So what does it matter? He walked back down Dorset Street, reading the papers gravely.Argendas Netemu [23], Migrant Reclamation Company.Purchased a barren sandy land from the Turkish government and planted it with trees.Best for sunshade, fuel or building lumber.There are orange groves and large melon fields in the north of Jaffa[24].You pay eighty marks, and they plant a dunam of olives, oranges, almonds, or citrons for you.Olives come cheaper, and oranges require artificial irrigation.Every year the harvest is sent to you.Your name is registered with the company as the life owner.You can pay ten marks in advance and the remainder in annual installments.Berlin, West 15th district, Breitliustrasse 34. Nothing to try.However, it's an idea. He looked at the photograph in the newspaper: the cows, dimly seen in the silvery heat.Silver-dusted olive groves.The days are quiet and long, and the tree is pruned and it matures.Olives are packed in jars, right?I still have some from Andrew's.Molly spat them out.Now she has a taste.The oranges were wrapped in tissue paper and packed in wicker baskets.So is citron.I wonder if poor Citron[26] still lives in St. Kevin's Walk[27]?And Mastiansky with his antique lyre.How many pleasant evenings we have spent together.Molly sat in Citron's wicker chair.The cold sallow fruit is really comfortable to hold in the hand, and it is fragrant.There is such a strong, mellow, wild fragrance.Year after year, always like this.Moisel told me that it can fetch a high price.Albutu New Street[23]: Pleasantz[29] Street: the good old days.He said that there should be no objection. [30] were shipped from Spain, Gibraltar, the Mediterranean and the Levant[31].There are a row of wicker baskets on the pier in Jaffa, and a young man is registering in a notebook.Barefoot strong laborers in dirty sackcloth carry them.A familiar figure showed up.Hello! Ignore it.Nodding acquaintances is tiresome.His back was rather like that of the Norwegian captain.[32]I don't know if I can meet him today.sprinkler.It is used to call rain.On earth, as in heaven. [33] A cloud began to slowly cover the entire sun.Gray ground.far away. No, not really.A wasteland, barren land.Crater Lake, Dead Sea.No fish, no weeds, deep in the ground.No wind could ripple the gray, metallic, foggy, poisonous surface.What came down was what they called brimstone.The names of these cities on the plain, Sodom, Gomorrah[34], Edom[35], are lost.A dead sea in the land of death, gray and old.Now it is old.Here the oldest and earliest races were born.A hunched old woman came across the road from Cassidy's tavern, clutching the mouth of a quarter-pint bottle.This is the oldest nation.Wandering to distant parts of the world, being captured captive, breeding, dying, and reborn everywhere.Now they lie there, unable to reproduce.already dead.It's an old woman's.The shriveled gray vulva of the world. It was barren. Gray terrors creeped him out.He folded the papers, put them in his pocket, turned into Eccles Street, and hurried home.Cold oil ran through his veins, chilling his blood.Age wrapped him in a coat of salt[36].Well, here I am now.Yes, I'm here now.This morning, my mouth is uncomfortable, and my mind is full of wonderful fantasies.I got out of bed from a different side than usual.It is time to resume the Sandau-style aerobics [37].push ups.Stained brown brick houses.The house at No. 80 has not been rented out yet.It is how it happened?Estimated at £28.The windows of the living room were covered with posters: Towers, Battersby, North, MacArthur. [38] It was as if many plasters had been applied to sore eyes.Inhale the soft steam from the tea and the aroma of butter sizzling in the pan.To get close to her plump body warmed on the bed.Yep. A beam of blazing and warm sunshine came rushing down from Berkeley Road.The windswept blond girl in slim sandals was running along the increasingly bright sidewalk, toward me. [39] There were two letters and a postcard on the hall floor.He bent down to pick it up.Mrs Marion Bloom.His exuberant mood immediately sank down.Strong pen: Mrs. Marion. "Pordy!" He went into the bedroom, squinting, and walked toward her sleepy head through the warm, yellow twilight. "Who is the letter addressed to?" He looked at it.Mullingar.Millie. "One is a letter from Millie," he said carefully, "and one is a postcard to you. The other is a letter to you." He put the postcard and the letter on the denim sheet, near the crook of her knee. "Would you like me to draw the blinds up?" As he gently drew the shutter halfway, his eye, staring back,[40] caught her glance at the letter and tuck it under the pillow. "Is that all right?" He turned around and asked. She rested her chin on her hand and was reading a postcard. "She's got the package," she said. She put the postcard aside, curled up slowly, and sighed comfortably.He waits. "Make some tea," she said, "I'm very thirsty." "The water is boiling," he said. But after a moment's delay in clearing the chairs, he picked up her striped petticoat and her soiled linen blouse, and stuffed them at the foot of the bed. As he came down the steps to the kitchen, she called out: "Pordy!" "What's up?" "Warm the teapot." The water had indeed boiled, and a plume of hot steam was rising from the pot.He scalded the teapot, rinsed it once, put in four spoonfuls of tea, and poured it with the boiling kettle tilted.When it was done, he moved the kettle away and laid the pot flat on the coals to watch the butter slippery and melt.When he opened the bag of kidneys, the cat meowed greedily at him.If it is fed too much meat, it will not catch mice.Oh, cats won't eat pork.Give some halal food.Come.He tossed it the blood-stained paper, and dipped the kidney into the sizzling butter.Had to add some pepper.He let the peppercorns in the chipped eggcup drip from between his fingers in a circle. Then he tore open the envelope and glanced at the page.thanks.Brand new beanie[41].Coghlan [42] Mr.Picnic at Lake Orville.Young students [43]."Girls on the Seashore" by Blaizes Boylan. The black tea is brewing.He smiled and filled his whisker cup[45].The china one with the crown imitating the Derby was a birthday present from silly Millie when she was five.No, it's four years old.I gave her a faux amber necklace and she broke it.And put some folded brown paper in the mailbox for her.He grinned and poured tea. Oh, Millie Bloom, you're my sweetheart, From morning till night, you are my mirror, Although Kathy Keogh has donkeys and vegetable plots, I would rather have you, even if you are penniless. [47] Poor old Professor Goodwin. [48] ​​Lao Jing was in a mess.Still, he was a polite old man.When Molly walked off the stage, he always bowed to her according to the old custom.He has a small mirror hidden in his top hat.Millie brought it into the living room that night.Oh look what I found in Professor Goodwin's hat! We all had a good laugh.Even then she was in love.What a lively little boy. He poked the fork into the waist and turned it over with a snap.Then put the teapot on the tray.When he lifted it up, the bottom of the bulging dish sank.Is everything ready?Four slices of bread with butter, sugar, a spoon, her cream.All together.Hooking his thumb around the handle of the teapot, he carried the tray upstairs. He pushed the door open with his knee, went in with the tray, and set it down on the chair by the bed. "Look at your mushroom power!" she said. She propped one elbow on the pillow, and as she sat up briskly, the brass rings jingled, and he gazed serenely down at her plump figure and a pair of soft, ewe-like breasts bulging inside her pajamas. Gap between soft big breasts.The heat from her body lying on her back merged with the fragrance of the tea she was pouring. A small torn envelope peeked out from under the dented pillow.As he walked outside, he stopped to stretch the quilt. "Who wrote the letter?" he asked. The pen is strong.Marion. "Oh, it's Boylan. He's bringing the program." "What are you singing?" "'Hand in Hand' with J. C. Doyle," she said, "and 'Old Sweet Love Song'." Her full lips smiled as she sipped her tea.That kind of perfume left a sour smell the next day, like rancid toilet water. "Can you open the window a little bit?" She folded a piece of bread and stuffed it into her mouth, asking: "What time does the funeral start?" "I think it was eleven o'clock," he answered. "I didn't read the paper." He lifted a leg of her dirty panties from the bed in the direction she pointed.Isn't it right?Then came a gray garter that was twisted crookedly over the stocking.The soles of the socks were wrinkled and polished. "No, I want that book." Another stocking.her petticoat. "It must have fallen," she said. He fumbled around.I want it, but I don't want it. [51] I wonder if she can pronounce that word clearly, I want it. [52] The book is not on the bed, it must have slipped.He bent down and lifted the hanging curtain from the edge of the bed.The book did fall.Spread out to lean against the fretted urinal belly. "Show me," she said, "I've made a mark. There's a word I want to ask you." She took a big sip of tea from the cup she held in her hand, quickly wiped her fingertips with a blanket, and began to trace the words with a hairpin, finally finding the word. "Meet him what?" he asked. "Here," she said, "what does that mean?" He bent down and read the words next to her manicured thumbnail. "Metempsy Chosis?" "Yeah, who can he meet when he stays at home?"[53] "Metempsychosis," he said, frowning, "it's a Greek word, from the Greek, which means reincarnation of the soul." "Oh, don't retweet!" she said, "Tell me in ordinary words!" He smiled and cast a sidelong glance into her mischievous eyes.Those eyes were as young as ever.It was the first night after the pantomime puzzle at the Dolphin Barn[54].He turned the soiled pages. "Ruby the Red Actor of the Circus" [55].Oh, illustration.A fierce Italian with a driving whip.The one naked on the floor must be the popular actor Ruby.Sheets that were kindly borrowed. [56] The monster Maffey stopped, and with a curse, hurled his prey rack.The inside story is brutal.Dosing animals.Cranes at the Hengler Circus. [57] It is almost impossible to look directly at it.The audience stared with gaping mouths.If you broke your neck bone, we'd laugh our ass off.The whole family is in this line of work.They were trained hard since childhood, so they were reincarnated.We live on after death.our souls.When a man dies, his soul, Dignam's soul... "Have you finished?" he asked. "Yes," she said, "not pornographic at all. Has she been in love with that first man?" "Never read it. Do you want another copy?" "Well. Borrow another Paul de Cock book. He's a nice name." She refills the tea and squints at the tea dripping from the spout into the cup. Had to renew the Cappel Street Library book, or they'd send a reminder to my guarantor, Carney.[59]Reincarnation, yes, that's the word. "Some people believe," he said, "that we continue to live in another body after we die, and that we have been that way in previous lives. They call this reincarnation. They also believe that thousands of years ago we were all on Earth Or another planet. They say we don't remember. But some people say they remember their previous life." The sticky cream curdled in her black tea in a curving spiral.How about reminding her of the word, reincarnation.An example would be better.What is an example? A picture of "Nymph [60] Bathing" hangs above the bed.This is an appendix to the Easter issue of Photography in Bits[61], a masterpiece of artificial coloring.Black tea is this color before milk is added.She looked like Marion with her hair loose, only slimmer.I spent three shillings and sixpence on this frame.She said it looks good hanging on the bedside.Naked nymphs, Greece.It would be nice to take people who lived in that era as an example. He flipped back page by page. "Reincarnation," he said, "is what the ancient Greeks said. For example, they believed that a person could be transformed into an animal or a tree. For example, into what they called a nymph." While stirring the sugar with a spoon, she stopped.She stared straight ahead, breathing in through her nostrils. "It smells like mush," she said. "Did you put something on the fire?" "Kids!" he yelled sharply. He stuffed the books into his inner pocket carelessly, bumped his toes against the broken washbasin stand, ran out of the room in the direction of the smell, and rushed down the stairs in a panic like a stork.Acrid smoke shot up from the side of the pan, and he shoveled the tip of his fork under the kidney, peeled it off the bottom, and turned it over.It was only a little bit mushy.He took the pot and shook the kidney so that it fell onto the plate and dripped the little brown juice that was left over. It's time for a cup of tea.He sat down, cut a slice of bread, and buttered it.He cut off the mushy part of the kidney and threw it to the cat.Then he stuffed a fork into his mouth, chewing and savoring the delicious tender kidney.It was cooked just right.I took a sip of tea.Then he cut the bread into small cubes, dipped a piece in the thick sauce, and brought it to his mouth.About young students, field trips, what did you write about?He spread the letter aside, smoothed it out, read it slowly as he chewed, dipped another small cube in the juice, and held it to his mouth. Dearest Daddy: Thank you so much for this beautiful birthday present.It fits me perfectly.Big Everyone says I look like a beauty in this new bonnet.I Received mom's lovely box of creamy treats too and am writing to her.dessert delicious.In the field of photography, I am doing better and better now.mr coghlan for me I took a picture with his wife, and after developing it, I will send it to you.Yesterday I Our business is booming.The weather is fine, and all those who are fat to their heels are here. We are having a small picnic at Lake Orville next Monday with some friends.ask mom Hi mom, a big kiss and thanks.I heard them playing the piano downstairs.star A concert will be held at the Greville Arms Hotel on Saturday.There is a young man named Bannon Students, sometimes come here in the evening.His cousin is a big celebrity, he Singing Boylan (I almost wrote Blazes Boylan) about the sea Songs of the girls.Tell him[62] that Silly Milly pays him her deepest tribute. I leave the pen with love. love your daughter Millie Also, sorry for the illegible handwriting due to haste.goodbye. rice She turned fifteen yesterday.What a coincidence, it's the fifteenth of this month again.It was her first birthday away from home.leave.Thinking of the summer morning when she was born, I ran to Denzel Street and knocked on Mrs Thornton's door to wake her up.She is a jolly old woman.There must be a lot of babies born into the world by her hand.She knew from the first that poor little Rudy was short. — Sir, God is merciful.She knew it right away.If he survived, he would be eleven years old now. He looked blank, staring at the postscript with some pity.Sorry for the illegible writing.hurry.Play the piano downstairs.She is no longer a bratty girl.He had quarreled with her in Cafe No. 40 about the bracelet.She turned her head away, refused to eat her snack, and refused to speak.What a stubborn kid.He soaked the remaining loaves in the gravy, and ate the kidneys piece by piece.Twelve shillings and sixpence a week is not much.Still, so far as she was concerned, it was all right.Vaudeville stage.Young student, he took a long sip of his slightly cooler tea and washed the food down.Then reread the letter twice. Oh well, she knows how to watch out for herself.But what if she didn't know?No, nothing happened.Of course, maybe it will happen.Anyway, wait until it happens.What a wild girl.He ran up the stairs on those thin legs.It was meant to be.It's about to grow up now.Vanity is heavy. He smiled at the kitchen window with a mixture of affection and unease.One day I caught a glimpse of her in the street, trying to pinch her cheeks.She was a little anemic and weaned too late.Rounded Kish that day in the King Erin,[64] and the damn old ship was rocking a lot.She was not afraid at all, her pale blue turban and hair fluttered in the wind. Curly hair and dimpled cheeks, It just makes your head spin. Girls on the beach.Torn envelope.With his hands in his pockets and singing songs, he looks like a coachman spending a day off at ease.family friend.He said "dizzy" into "cloud". [65] In the summer evening, lights are lit on the trestle bridge, and a brass band is played. those girls, those girls, Those pretty girls on the beach. So is Millie.The kiss of youth, for the first time.It is already a thing of the past.Mrs. Marion.这会子想必向后靠着看书哪，数着头发分成了多少绺，笑眯眯地编着辫子。 淡淡的疑惧，悔恨之情，顺着他的脊骨往下串。势头越来越猛。会发生的，是啊。阻挡也是白搭，一筹莫展。少女那俊美、娇嫩的嘴唇。也会发生的啊。他觉得那股疑惧涌遍全身。现在做什么都是徒然的。嘴唇被吻，亲吻，被吻。女人那丰满而如胶似漆的嘴唇。 她不如就呆在眼下这个地方。远离家门。让她有事儿可做。她说过想养只狗作消遣。也许我到她那儿去旅行一趟。利用八月间的银行休假日[66]，来回只消花上两先令六便士。反正还有六个星期哪。也许没法弄到一张报社的乘车证。要么就托麦科伊[67]。 猫儿把浑身的毛舔得干干净净，又回到沾了腰子血的纸那儿，用鼻子嗅了嗅，并且大模大样地走到门前。它回头望了望他，喵喵叫着。想出去哩。只要在门前等着，迟早总会开的。就让它等下去好了。它显得烦躁不安，身上起了电哩。空中的雷鸣。是啊，它还曾背对着火，一个劲儿地洗耳朵来着。 他觉得饱了。撑得慌；接着，肠胃一阵松动。他站起来，解开裤腰带。猫儿朝他喵喵叫着。 “喵!”他回答，“等我准备好了再说。” 空气沉闷，看来是个炎热的日子。吃力地爬上楼梯到平台[68]那儿去，可太麻烦了。 要张报纸。他喜欢坐在便桶上看报。可别让什么无聊的家伙专挑这种时候来敲门。 他从桌子的抽屉里找到一份过期的《珍闻》[69]。他把报纸叠起来，夹在腋下，走到门前，将它打开。猫儿轻盈地蹿跳着跑上去了。啊，它是想上楼，到床上蜷缩作一团。 他竖起耳朵，听见了她的声音: “来，来，小咪咪。来呀。” 他从后门出去，走进园子，站在那儿倾听着隔壁园子的动静。那里鸦雀无声。多半是在晾晒着衣服哪。女仆在园子里。[70]早晨的天气多好。 他弯下身去望着沿墙稀稀疏疏地长着的一排留兰香。就在这儿盖座凉亭吧。种上红花菜豆或五叶地锦什么的。这片土壤太贫瘠了，想整个儿施一通肥。上面是一层像是肝脏又近似硫磺的颜色。要是不施肥，所有的土壤都会变成这样。厨房的泔水。怎么才能让土壤肥沃起来呢？隔壁园子里养着母鸡。鸡粪就是头等肥料。可再也没有比牲口粪更好的了，尤其是用油渣饼来喂养的牛。牛粪可以做铺垫。最好拿它来洗妇女戴的羔羊皮手套。用脏东西清除污垢。使用炭灰也可以。把这块地都开垦了吧。在那个角落里种上豌豆。还有莴苣。那么就不断地有新鲜青菜吃了。不过，菜园子也有缺陷。圣灵降临节的第二天，这里就曾招来成群的蜜蜂[71]和青蝇。 He kept walking.咦，我的帽子呢？想必是把它挂回到木钉上啦。也许是挂在落地衣帽架上了。真怪，我一点儿也记不得。门厅里的架子太满了。四把伞，还有她的雨衣。方才我拾起那几封信的时候，德雷格理发店的铃声响起来了。奇怪的是我正在想着那个人。除了润发油的褐色头发一直垂到他的脖颈上。一副刚刚梳洗过的样子。不知道今天早晨来不来得及洗个澡。塔拉街[72]。他们说，坐在柜台后面的那个家伙把詹姆斯·斯蒂芬斯[73]放跑了。他姓奥布赖恩[74]。 那个叫德鲁加茨的家伙声音挺深沉的。那家公司叫阿根达斯什么来着？——好啦，大姐。[75]狂热的犹太教徒[76]。 他一脚踢开厕所那扇关不严的门。还得穿这条裤子去参加葬礼哪，最好多加小心，可别给弄脏了。门楣挺矮，他低着头走进去。门半掩着，在发霉的石灰浆和陈年的蜘蛛网的臭气中，解下了背带。蹲坐之前，隔着墙缝朝上望了一下邻居的窗户。国王在他的帐房里[77]。一个人也没有。 他蹲在凳架[78]上，摊开报纸，在自己赤裸裸的膝上翻看着。读点新鲜而又轻松的。不必这么急嘛。从从容容地来。《珍闻》的悬赏小说：《马查姆的妙举》，作者菲利普·博福伊[79]先生是伦敦戏迷俱乐部的成员。已经照每栏一基尼付给了作者。三栏半。三镑三先令。三镑十三先令六便士。[80] 他不急于出恭，从从容容地读完第一栏，虽有便意却又憋着，开始读第二栏。然而读到一半，就再也憋不住了。于是就一边读着一边让粪便静静地排出。他仍旧耐心地读着，昨天那轻微的便秘完全畅通了。但愿块头不要太大，不然，痔疮又会犯了。不，这刚好。right.啊!便秘嘛，请服一片药鼠李皮[81]。人生也可能就是这样。这篇小说并未使他神往或感动，然而写得干净利索。如今啥都可以印出来，是个胡来的季节。他继续读下去，安然坐在那里闻着自己冒上来的臭味。确实利索。马查姆经常想起那一妙举，凭着它，自己赢得了大笑着的魔女之爱，而今她……开头和结尾都有说教意味。手拉着手。写得妙!他翻过来又瞅了瞅已读过的部分，同时觉出尿在静静地淌出来，心里毫无歹意地在羡慕那位由于写了此文而获得三镑十三先令六便士的博福伊先生。 也许好歹能写出一篇小品文。利·玛·布卢姆夫妇作。由一句谚语引出一段故事如何？可哪句好呢？想当初，她在换衣服，我一边看她梳妆打扮，一边把她讲的话匆匆记在我的袖口上。我们不喜欢一道换装。一会儿是我刮胡子，刮出了血，一会儿又是她，裙腰开口处的钩子不牢，狠狠地咬着下唇。我为她记下时间，九点一刻，罗伯兹付你钱了没有？九点二十分，葛莉塔·康罗伊[82]穿的是什么衣服？九点二十三分，我究竟着了什么魔，买下这么一把梳子!九点二十四分:吃了那包心菜，肚子胀得厉害。她的漆皮靴上沾了点土。于是轮流抬起脚来，用靴子的贴边灵巧地往袜筒上蹭。在义卖会舞会上，梅氏乐队[83]演奏了庞契埃利的《时间之舞》。[84]那是第二天早晨的事。你解释一下，早晨的时光，晌午，随后傍晚来临，接着又是晚上的时光。她刷牙来着。那是头一个晚上。[85]她脑子里还在翩翩起舞。她的扇柄还在咯嗒咯嗒响着。——那个博伊兰阔吗？——他有钱。——怎见得？——跳舞的时候，我发觉他呼出浓郁的、好闻的气味。那么，哼哼唱唱也是白搭。还是暗示一下为好。昨天晚上的音乐可妙哩。镜子挂在暗处。于是，她就用自己的带柄手镜在她那裹在羊毛衫里的颤巍巍的丰满乳房上敏捷地擦了擦。她照着镜子，然而眼角上的鱼尾纹却怎么也抹不掉。 黄昏时分，姑娘们穿着灰色网纱衫。接着是夜晚的时光，穿黑的，佩匕首，戴着只露两眼的假面具。多么富于诗意的构思啊，粉色，然后是金色，接着是灰色，接着又是黑色。也是那样栩栩如生。先是昼，随后是夜。 他把获奖小说吱啦一声扯下半页，用来揩拭自己。然后系上腰带和背带，扣上钮扣。他将那摇摇晃晃关不紧的门拽上，从昏暗中走进大千世界。 在明亮的阳光下，四肢舒展爽朗起来。他仔细审视着自己的黑裤子，裤脚、膝部、腿窝。丧礼是几点钟来看？最好翻翻报纸。 空中响起金属的摩擦声和低沉的回旋声。这是乔治教堂在敲钟。那钟在报时辰，黑漆漆的铁在轰鸣着。 Jingle!Jingle! Jingle!Jingle! Jingle!Jingle! 三刻钟了。又响了一下。回音划破天空跟过来。The third time. 可怜的迪格纳穆！