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Then I'll get the design, Mr Nannetti, he said, and you'll give it a good place I know. Monks! Yes, sir. Three months' renewal. Want to get some wind off my chest first. Try it anyhow. Rub in August: good idea: horseshow month. Ballsbridge. Tourists over for the show. He walked on through the caseroom passing an old man, bowed, spectacled, aproned. Old Monks, the dayfather.
Manufactured by George Plumtree, 23 Merchants' quay, Dublin, put up in 4 oz pots, and inserted by Councillor Joseph P. Nannetti, M. P., Rotunda Ward, 19 Hardwicke street, under the obituary notices and anniversaries of deceases. The name on the label is Plumtree. A plumtree in a meatpot, registered trade mark. Beware of imitations. Peatmot. Trumplee. Moutpat. Plamtroo.
She lays eggs for us. When she lays her egg she is so glad. Gara. Klook Klook Klook. Then comes good uncle Leo. He puts his hand under black Liz and takes her fresh egg. Ga ga ga ga Gara. Klook Klook Klook. Anyhow, says Joe, Field and Nannetti are going over tonight to London to ask about it on the floor of the house of commons. Are you sure, says Bloom, the councillor is going?
But the poor buffer would have to stand all the time with his insides entrails on show. Science. A cenar teco. What does that teco mean? Tonight perhaps. Don Giovanni, thou hast me invited To come to supper tonight, The rum the rumdum. Doesn't go properly. Keyes: two months if I get Nannetti to. That'll be two pounds ten about two pounds eight. Three Hynes owes me. Two eleven.
Just this ad, Mr Bloom said, pushing through towards the steps, puffing, and taking the cutting from his pocket. I spoke with Mr Keyes just now. He'll give a renewal for two months, he says. After he'll see. But he wants a par to call attention in the Telegraph too, the Saturday pink. And he wants it copied if it's not too late I told councillor Nannetti from the Kilkenny People.
Look sharp and you'll catch him. Thanks, old man, Hynes said. I'll tap him too. He hurried on eagerly towards the Freeman's Journal. Three bob I lent him in Meagher's. Three weeks. Third hint. Mr Bloom laid his cutting on Mr Nannetti's desk. Excuse me, councillor, he said. This ad, you see. Keyes, you remember? Mr Nannetti considered the cutting awhile and nodded.
John Wyse Nolan, lagging behind, reading the list, came after them quickly down Cork hill. On the steps of the City hall Councillor Nannetti, descending, hailed Alderman Cowley and Councillor Abraham Lyon ascending. The castle car wheeled empty into upper Exchange street. Look here, Martin, John Wyse Nolan said, overtaking them at the Mail office. I see Bloom put his name down for five shillings.
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