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Mabbot at Marsh's, who told me how the House had this day voted that the gates of the City should be set up at the cost of the State. And that Major-General Brown's being proclaimed a traitor be made void, and several other things of that nature. I observed this day how abominably Barebone's windows are broke again last night. 23rd. Thursday, my birth-day, now twenty-seven years.
BLOOM: Buenas noches, señorita Blanca, que calle es esta? Sraid Mabbot. BLOOM: Haha. Merci. Esperanto. Slan leath. A sackshouldered ragman bars his path. BLOOM: I beg. BLOOM: Keep to the right, right, right. If there is a signpost planted by the Touring Club at Stepaside who procured that public boon?
I paid her, maid 40s. of the money that I have received of Mr. Andrews. Hence home to my study, where I only wrote thus much of this day's passages to this * and so out again. To White Hall, where I met with Will. Simons and Mr. Mabbot at Marsh's, who told me how the House had this day voted that the gates of the City should be set up at the cost of the State.
Just you try it on. The Mabbot street entrance of nighttown, before which stretches an uncobbled tramsiding set with skeleton tracks, red and green will-o'-the-wisps and danger signals. Rows of grimy houses with gaping doors. Rare lamps with faint rainbow fins. Round Rabaiotti's halted ice gondola stunted men and women squabble.
Mabbot, hath approved himself faithful in that service of licensing, and likewise in the service of the House and of this army, I humbly desire that he may be restored and continued in the same place of licenser.
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