—What’s the best news? he asked.
—I seen that particular party last evening, the constable said with bated breath.
7
A onelegged sailor crutched himself round MacConnell’s corner, skirting Rabaiotti’s icecream car, and jerked himself up Eccles street. Towards Larry O’Rourke, in shirtsleeves in his doorway, he growled unamiably.
—For England . . .
He swung himself violently forward past Katey and Boody Dedalus, halted and growled:
—home and beauty.
J. J. O’Molloy’s white careworn face was told that Mr Lambert was in the warehouse with a visitor.
A stout lady stopped, took a copper coin from her purse and dropped it into the cap held out to her. The sailor grumbled thanks and glanced sourly at the unheeding windows, sank his head and swung himself forward four strides.
He halted and
