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Both smiled over the crossblind at the file of capering newsboys in Mr Bloom's wake, the last zigzagging white on the breeze a mocking kite, a tail of white bowknots. Look at the young guttersnipe behind him hue and cry, Lenehan said, and you'll kick. O, my rib risible! Taking off his flat spaugs and the walk. Small nines. Steal upon larks.
Bronze by gold, Miss Kennedy's head by Miss Douce's head, appeared above the crossblind of the Ormond hotel. Yes, Martin Cunningham said, fingering his beard. I wrote to Father Conmee and laid the whole case before him. You could try our friend, Mr Power suggested backward. Boyd? Martin Cunningham said shortly. Touch me not.
J. J. O'Molloy took the tissues from Lenehan's hand and read them, blowing them apart gently, without comment. He'll get that advertisement, the professor said, staring through his blackrimmed spectacles over the crossblind. Look at the young scamps after him. Show. Where? Lenehan cried, running to the window.
From its sluice in Wood quay wall under Tom Devan's office Poddle river hung out in fealty a tongue of liquid sewage. Above the crossblind of the Ormond hotel, gold by bronze, Miss Kennedy's head by Miss Douce's head watched and admired. On Ormond quay Mr Simon Dedalus, steering his way from the greenhouse for the subsheriff's office, stood still in midstreet and brought his hat low.
Love and War, Ben, Mr Dedalus said. God be with old times. Miss Douce's brave eyes, unregarded, turned from the crossblind, smitten by sunlight. Gone. Poor old Goodwin was the pianist that night, Father Cowley reminded them. There was a slight difference of opinion between himself and the Collard grand. There was. A symposium all his own, Mr Dedalus said. The devil wouldn't stop him.
The director stood in the embrasure of the window, his back to the light, leaning an elbow on the brown crossblind, and, as he spoke and smiled, slowly dangling and looping the cord of the other blind, Stephen stood before him, following for a moment with his eyes the waning of the long summer daylight above the roofs or the slow deft movements of the priestly fingers.
Bronze by gold, miss Douce's head by miss Kennedy's head, over the crossblind of the Ormond bar heard the viceregal hoofs go by, ringing steel. Is that her? asked miss Kennedy. Miss Douce said yes, sitting with his ex, pearl grey and eau de Nil. Exquisite contrast, miss Kennedy said. When all agog miss Douce said eagerly: Look at the fellow in the tall silk. Who? Where? gold asked more eagerly.