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5<br />
6<br />
7<br />
Push or pull �ipper while pressing right button.<br />
Underline “crocus” while pushing button on stylus.<br />
Touch stylus in application to release word there.<br />
Write “140” adjacent to page number and use �ipper.<br />
Brasses braying asses through uptrunks. Doublebasses, helpless,<br />
gashes in their sides. Woodwinds mooing cows. Semigrand open<br />
crocodile music hath jaws. Woodwind like Goodwin's name.<br />
She looked �ne. Her crocus dress she wore, lowcut, belongings<br />
on show. Clove her breath was always in theatre when she bent<br />
to ask a question. Told her what Spinoza says in that book of<br />
poor papa's. Hypnotised, listening. Eyes like that. She bent. Chap<br />
in dresscircle, staring down into her with his operaglass for all he<br />
was worth. Beauty of music you must hear twice. Nature woman<br />
half a look. God made the country man the tune. Met him pike<br />
hoses. Philosophy. O rocks!<br />
All gone. All fallen. At the siege of Ross his father, at Gorey all his<br />
brothers fell. To Wexford, we are the boys of Wexford, he would.<br />
Last of his name and race.<br />
I too, last my race. Milly young student. Well, my fault perhaps.<br />
No son. Rudy. Too late now. Or if not? If not? If still?<br />
He bore no hate.<br />
Hate. Love. Those are names. Rudy. Soon I am old.<br />
Big Ben his voice unfolded. Great voice, Richie Goulding said, a<br />
�ush struggling in his pale, to Bloom, soon old but when was<br />
young.<br />
Ireland comes now. My country above the King. She listens. Who<br />
fears to speak of nineteen four? Time to be shoving. Looked<br />
enough.<br />
-- Bless me, father, Dollard the croppy cried. Bless me and let me<br />
go.<br />
Tap.<br />
Bloom looked, unblessed to go. Got up to kill: on eighteen bob a<br />
week. Fellows shell out the dibs. Want to keep your weathereye<br />
open. Those girls, those lovely. By the sad sea waves. Chorusgirl's<br />
romance. Letters read out for breach of promise. From Chicka-<br />
273<br />
PROMPT ACTIVE READING MARGIN<br />
5<br />
Brasses braying asses through uptrunks. Doublebasses, helpless,<br />
gashes in their sides. Woodwinds mooing cows. Semigrand open<br />
crocodile music hath jaws. Woodwind like Goodwin's name.<br />
She looked �ne. Her crocus dress she wore, lowcut, belongings<br />
on show. Clove her breath was always in theatre when she bent<br />
to ask a question. Told her what Spinoza says in that book of<br />
poor papa's. Hypnotised, listening. Eyes like that. She bent. Chap<br />
in dresscircle, staring down into her with his operaglass for all he<br />
was worth. Beauty of music you must hear twice. Nature woman<br />
half a look. God made the country man the tune. Met him pike<br />
hoses. Philosophy. O rocks!<br />
All gone. All fallen. At the siege of Ross his father, at Gorey all his<br />
brothers fell. To Wexford, we are the boys of Wexford, he would.<br />
Last of his name and race.<br />
I too, last my race. Milly young student. Well, my fault perhaps.<br />
No son. Rudy. Too late now. Or if not? If not? If still?<br />
He bore no hate.<br />
Hate. Love. Those are names. Rudy. Soon I am old.<br />
Big Ben his voice unfolded. Great voice, Richie Goulding said, a<br />
�ush struggling in his pale, to Bloom, soon old but when was<br />
young.<br />
Ireland comes now. My country above the King. She listens. Who<br />
fears to speak of nineteen four? Time to be shoving. Looked<br />
enough.<br />
-- Bless me, father, Dollard the croppy cried. Bless me and let me<br />
go.<br />
Tap.<br />
Bloom looked, unblessed to go. Got up to kill: on eighteen bob a<br />
week. Fellows shell out the dibs. Want to keep your weathereye<br />
open. Those girls, those lovely. By the sad sea waves. Chorusgirl's<br />
romance. Letters read out for breach of promise. From Chicka-<br />
273<br />
Brasses braying asses through uptrunks. Doublebasses, helpless,<br />
gashes in their sides. Woodwinds mooing cows. Semigrand open<br />
crocodile music hath jaws. Woodwind like Goodwin's name.<br />
She looked �ne. Her crocus dress she wore, lowcut, belongings<br />
on show. Clove her breath was always in theatre when she bent<br />
to ask a question. Told her what Spinoza says in that book of<br />
poor papa's. Hypnotised, listening. Eyes like that. She bent. Chap<br />
in dresscircle, staring down into her with his operaglass for all he<br />
was worth. Beauty of music you must hear twice. Nature woman<br />
half a look. God made the country man the tune. Met him pike<br />
hoses. Philosophy. O rocks!<br />
All gone. All fallen. At the siege of Ross his father, at Gorey all his<br />
brothers fell. To Wexford, we are the boys of Wexford, he would.<br />
Last of his name and race.<br />
I too, last my race. Milly young student. Well, my fault perhaps.<br />
No son. Rudy. Too late now. Or if not? If not? If still?<br />
He bore no hate.<br />
Hate. Love. Those are names. Rudy. Soon I am old.<br />
Big Ben his voice unfolded. Great voice, Richie Goulding said, a<br />
�ush struggling in his pale, to Bloom, soon old but when was<br />
young.<br />
Ireland comes now. My country above the King. She listens. Who<br />
fears to speak of nineteen four? Time to be shoving. Looked<br />
enough.<br />
-- Bless me, father, Dollard the croppy cried. Bless me and let me<br />
go.<br />
Tap.<br />
Bloom looked, unblessed to go. Got up to kill: on eighteen bob a<br />
week. Fellows shell out the dibs. Want to keep your weathereye<br />
open. Those girls, those lovely. By the sad sea waves. Chorusgirl's<br />
romance. Letters read out for breach of promise. From Chicka-<br />
273<br />
SEARCH<br />
DICTIONARY<br />
cro·cus (kroh-kuhs) n.<br />
1 Any of the small, bulbous<br />
plants of the genus Crocus, of<br />
the iris family<br />
2 A deep yellow; saffron.<br />
[ME < L < Gk krókos saffron]<br />
— cro·cused adj.<br />
FICT. CONVERGENCES<br />
WORD SEARCH<br />
SKIP TO PAGE 140<br />
SEARCH<br />
DICTIONARY<br />
FICT. CONVERGENCES<br />
WORD SEARCH<br />
7<br />
Same blue serge dress she had two years ago, the nap bleaching.<br />
Seen its best days. Wispish hair over her ears. And that dowdy<br />
toque: three old grapes to take the harm out of it. Shabby genteel.<br />
She used to be a tasty dresser. Lines round her mouth. Only a<br />
year or so older than Molly.<br />
See the eye that woman gave her, passing. Cruel. The unfair sex.<br />
He looked still at her, holding back behind his look his discontent.<br />
Pungent mockturtle oxtail mulligatawny. I'm hungry too.<br />
Flakes of pastry on the gusset of her dress: daub of sugary �our<br />
stuck to her cheek. Rhubarb tart with liberal �llings, rich fruit<br />
interior. Josie Powell that was. In Luke Doyle's long ago,<br />
Dolphin's Barn, the charades. U.p: up.<br />
Change the subject.<br />
-- Do you ever see anything of Mrs Beaufoy? Mr Bloom asked.<br />
-- Mina Purefoy? she said.<br />
Philip Beaufoy I was thinking. Playgoers' club. Matcham often<br />
thinks of the masterstroke. Did I pull the chain? Yes. The last act.<br />
-- Yes.<br />
-- I just called to ask on the way in is she over it. She's in the<br />
lying-in hospital in Holles street. Dr Horne got her in. She's three<br />
days bad now.<br />
-- O, Mr Bloom said. I'm sorry to hear that.<br />
-- Yes, Mrs Breen said. And a houseful of kids at home. It's a very<br />
stiff birth, the nurse told me.<br />
-- O, Mr Bloom said.<br />
His heavy pitying gaze absorbed her news. His tongue clacked in<br />
compassion. Dth! Dth!<br />
-- I'm sorry to hear that, he said. Poor thing! Three days! That's<br />
140<br />
Same blue serge dress she had two years ago, the nap bleaching.<br />
Seen its best days. Wispish hair over her ears. And that dowdy<br />
toque: three old grapes to take the harm out of it. Shabby genteel.<br />
She used to be a tasty dresser. Lines round her mouth. Only a<br />
year or so older than Molly.<br />
See the eye that woman gave her, passing. Cruel. The unfair sex.<br />
He looked still at her, holding back behind his look his discontent.<br />
Pungent mockturtle oxtail mulligatawny. I'm hungry too.<br />
Flakes of pastry on the gusset of her dress: daub of sugary �our<br />
stuck to her cheek. Rhubarb tart with liberal �llings, rich fruit<br />
interior. Josie Powell that was. In Luke Doyle's long ago,<br />
Dolphin's Barn, the charades. U.p: up.<br />
Change the subject.<br />
-- Do you ever see anything of Mrs Beaufoy? Mr Bloom asked.<br />
SEARCH<br />
-- Mina Purefoy? she said.<br />
Philip Beaufoy I was thinking. Playgoers' club. Matcham often<br />
thinks of the masterstroke. Did I pull the chain? Yes. The last act.<br />
-- Yes.<br />
-- I just called to ask on the way in is she over it. She's in the<br />
lying-in hospital in Holles street. Dr Horne got her in. She's three<br />
days bad now.<br />
-- O, Mr Bloom said. I'm sorry to hear that. DICTIONARY<br />
cro·cus (kroh-kuhs) n.<br />
-- Yes, Mrs Breen said. And a houseful of kids at home. It's a very<br />
SEARCH<br />
DICTIONARY<br />
cro·cus (kroh-kuhs) n.<br />
1 Any of the small, bulbous<br />
plants of the genus Crocus, of<br />
the iris family<br />
2 A deep yellow; saffron.<br />
[ME < L < Gk krókos saffron]<br />
— cro·cused adj.<br />
FICT. CONVERGENCES<br />
WORD SEARCH<br />
DEFINE “CROCUS” 6<br />
LEFT-HANDED USE<br />
SEARCH<br />
DICTIONARY<br />
cro·cus (kroh-kuhs) n.<br />
1 Any of the small, bulbous<br />
plants of the genus Crocus, of<br />
the iris family<br />
2 A deep yellow; saffron.<br />
stiff birth, the nurse told me.<br />
-- O, Mr Bloom said.<br />
1 Any of the small, bulbous<br />
plants of the genus Crocus, of<br />
the iris family<br />
2 A deep yellow; saffron.<br />
[ME < L < Gk krókos saffron]<br />
— cro·cused Same adj. blue serge dress she had two years ago, the nap bleaching.<br />
Seen its best days. Wispish hair over her ears. And that dowdy<br />
toque: three old grapes to take the harm out of it. Shabby genteel.<br />
FICT. CONVERGENCES<br />
She used to be a tasty dresser. Lines round her mouth. Only a<br />
year or so older than Molly.<br />
See the eye that woman gave her, passing. Cruel. The unfair sex.<br />
He looked still at her, holding back behind his look his discontent.<br />
Pungent mockturtle oxtail mulligatawny. I'm hungry too.<br />
Flakes of pastry on the gusset of her dress: daub of sugary �our<br />
stuck to her cheek. Rhubarb tart with liberal �llings, rich fruit<br />
interior. Josie Powell that was. In Luke Doyle's long ago,<br />
WORD Dolphin's SEARCH Barn, the charades. U.p: up.<br />
Change the subject.<br />
-- Do you ever see anything of Mrs Beaufoy? Mr Bloom asked.<br />
His heavy pitying gaze absorbed her news. [ME His < L tongue < Gk krókos clacked saffron] in<br />
compassion. Dth! Dth!<br />
— cro·cused adj.<br />
-- Mina Purefoy? she said.<br />
-- I'm sorry to hear that, he said. Poor thing! Three days! That's<br />
FICT. CONVERGENCES<br />
140<br />
Philip Beaufoy I was thinking. Playgoers' club. Matcham often<br />
thinks of the masterstroke. Did I pull the chain? Yes. The last act.<br />
-- Yes.<br />
-- I just called to ask on the way in is she over it. She's in the<br />
lying-in hospital in Holles street. Dr Horne got her in. She's three<br />
days bad now.<br />
-- O, Mr Bloom said. I'm sorry to hear that.<br />
WORD SEARCH<br />
-- Yes, Mrs Breen said. And a houseful of kids at home. It's a very<br />
stiff birth, the nurse told me.<br />
-- O, Mr Bloom said.<br />
His heavy pitying gaze absorbed her news. His tongue clacked in<br />
compassion. Dth! Dth!<br />
-- I'm sorry to hear that, he said. Poor thing! Three days! That's<br />
140