From aaf7e973b1357333ad997c9514cd0e5025450594 Mon Sep 17 00:00:00 2001 From: Ronan Crowley Date: Wed, 1 Feb 2017 17:43:05 +0000 Subject: [PATCH] tagging, per #9 --- u05_lotus-eaters.xml | 136 +++++++++++++++++++++---------------------- 1 file changed, 68 insertions(+), 68 deletions(-) diff --git a/u05_lotus-eaters.xml b/u05_lotus-eaters.xml index bb34c28..40e6697 100755 --- a/u05_lotus-eaters.xml +++ b/u05_lotus-eaters.xml @@ -53,7 +53,7 @@ means. From the curbstone he darted a keen glance through the door of the postoffice. Too late box. Post here. No-one. In.

He handed the card through the brass grill. -―Are there any letters for me? he asked.

+―Are there any letters for me? he asked.

While the postmistress searched a pigeonhole he gazed at the recruiting poster with soldiers of all arms on parade: and held the tip of his baton against his nostrils, smelling freshprinted rag paper. No answer @@ -82,20 +82,20 @@ perhaps. Hair? No.

M'Coy. Get rid of him quickly. Take me out of my way. Hate company when you. -―Hello, Bloom. Where are you off to? -―Hello, M'Coy. Nowhere in particular. -―How's the body? -―Fine. How are you? -―Just keeping alive, M'Coy said.

+―Hello, Bloom. Where are you off to? +―Hello, M'Coy. Nowhere in particular. +―How's the body? +―Fine. How are you? +―Just keeping alive, M'Coy said.

His eyes on the black tie and clothes he asked with low respect: -―Is there any ... no trouble I hope? I see you're ... -―O, no, Mr Bloom said. Poor Dignam, you know. The funeral is today. -―To be sure, poor fellow. So it is. What time?

+―Is there any ... no trouble I hope? I see you're ... +―O, no, Mr Bloom said. Poor Dignam, you know. The funeral is today. +―To be sure, poor fellow. So it is. What time?

A photo it isn't. A badge maybe. -―Eeleven, Mr Bloom answered. -―I must try to get out there, M'Coy said. Eleven, is it? I only heard it last -night. Who was telling me? Holohan. You know Hoppy? -―I know.

+―Eeleven, Mr Bloom answered. +―I must try to get out there, M'Coy said. Eleven, is it? I only heard it last +night. Who was telling me? Holohan. You know Hoppy? +―I know.

Mr Bloom gazed across the road at the outsider drawn up before the door of the Grosvenor. The porter hoisted the valise up on the well. She stood still, waiting, while the man, husband, brother, like her, searched his @@ -105,53 +105,53 @@ Women all for caste till you touch the spot. Handsome is and handsome does. Reserved about to yield. The honourable Mrs and Brutus is an honourable man. Possess her once take the starch out of her. -―I was with Bob Doran, he's on one of his periodical bends, and what do -you call him Bantam Lyons. Just down there in Conway's we were.

+―I was with Bob Doran, he's on one of his periodical bends, and what do +you call him Bantam Lyons. Just down there in Conway's we were.

Doran Lyons in Conway's. She raised a gloved hand to her hair. In came Hoppy. Having a wet. Drawing back his head and gazing far from beneath his vailed eyelids he saw the bright fawn skin shine in the glare, the braided drums. Clearly I can see today. Moisture about gives long sight perhaps. Talking of one thing or another. Lady's hand. Which side will she get up? -―And he said: Sad thing about our poor friend Paddy! What Paddy? I said. -Poor little Paddy Dignam, he said.

+―And he said: Sad thing about our poor friend Paddy! What Paddy? I said. +Poor little Paddy Dignam, he said.

Off to the country: Broadstone probably. High brown boots with laces dangling. Wellturned foot. What is he foostering over that change for? Sees me looking. Eye out for other fellow always. Good fallback. Two strings to her bow. -―Why? I said. What's wrong with him? I said.

+―Why? I said. What's wrong with him? I said.

Proud: rich: silk stockings. -―Yes, Mr Bloom said.

+―Yes, Mr Bloom said.

He moved a little to the side of M'Coy's talking head. Getting up in a minute. -―What's wrong with him? he said. He's dead, he said. And, faith, he filled +―What's wrong with him? he said. He's dead, he said. And, faith, he filled up. Is it Paddy Dignam? I said. I couldn't believe it when I heard it. I was with him no later than Friday last or Thursday was it in the Arch. Yes, he -said. He's gone. He died on Monday, poor fellow.

+said. He's gone. He died on Monday, poor fellow.

Watch! Watch! Silk flash rich stockings white. Watch!

A heavy tramcar honking its gong slewed between.

Lost it. Curse your noisy pugnose. Feels locked out of it. Paradise and the peri. Always happening like that. The very moment. Girl in Eustace street hallway Monday was it settling her garter. Her friend covering the display of. Esprit de corps. Well, what are you gaping at? -―Yes, yes, Mr Bloom said after a dull sigh. Another gone. -―One of the best, M'Coy said.

+―Yes, yes, Mr Bloom said after a dull sigh. Another gone. +―One of the best, M'Coy said.

The tram passed. They drove off towards the Loop Line bridge, her rich gloved hand on the steel grip. Flicker, flicker: the laceflare of her hat in the sun: flicker, flick. -―Wife well, I suppose? M'Coy's changed voice said. -―O, yes, Mr Bloom said. Tiptop, thanks.

+―Wife well, I suppose? M'Coy's changed voice said. +―O, yes, Mr Bloom said. Tiptop, thanks.

He unrolled the newspaper baton idly and read idly:

What is home without Plumtree's Potted Meat? Incomplete. With it an abode of bliss.

-

―My missus has just got an engagement. At least it's not settled yet.

+

―My missus has just got an engagement. At least it's not settled yet.

Valise tack again. By the way no harm. I'm off that, thanks.

Mr Bloom turned his largelidded eyes with unhasty friendliness. -―My wife too, he said. She's going to sing at a swagger affair in the Ulster -Hall, Belfast, on the twentyfifth. -―That so? M'Coy said. Glad to hear that, old man. Who's getting it up?

+―My wife too, he said. She's going to sing at a swagger affair in the Ulster +Hall, Belfast, on the twentyfifth. +―That so? M'Coy said. Glad to hear that, old man. Who's getting it up?

Mrs Marion Bloom. Not up yet. Queen was in her bedroom eating bread and. No book. Blackened court cards laid along her thigh by sevens. Dark lady and fair man. Letter. Cat furry black ball. Torn strip of envelope.

@@ -160,22 +160,22 @@ Sweet. Song. Comes lo-ove's old ....

-

―It's a kind of a tour, don't you see, Mr Bloom said thoughtfully. Sweeeet -song. There's a committee formed. Part shares and part profits.

+

―It's a kind of a tour, don't you see, Mr Bloom said thoughtfully. Sweeeet +song. There's a committee formed. Part shares and part profits.

M'Coy nodded, picking at his moustache stubble. -―O, well, he said. That's good news.

+―O, well, he said. That's good news.

He moved to go. -―Well, glad to see you looking fit, he said. Meet you knocking around. -―Yes, Mr Bloom said. -―Tell you what, M'Coy said. You might put down my name at the funeral, +―Well, glad to see you looking fit, he said. Meet you knocking around. +―Yes, Mr Bloom said. +―Tell you what, M'Coy said. You might put down my name at the funeral, will you? I'd like to go but I mightn't be able, you see. There's a drowning case at Sandycove may turn up and then the coroner and myself would have to go down if the body is found. You just shove in my name if I'm not -there, will you? -―I'll do that, Mr Bloom said, moving to get off. That'll be all right. -―Right, M'Coy said brightly. Thanks, old man. I'd go if I possibly could. -Well. Tolloll. Just C. P. M'Coy will do. -―That will be done, Mr Bloom answered firmly.

+there, will you? +―I'll do that, Mr Bloom said, moving to get off. That'll be all right. +―Right, M'Coy said brightly. Thanks, old man. I'd go if I possibly could. +Well. Tolloll. Just C. P. M'Coy will do. +―That will be done, Mr Bloom answered firmly.

Didn't catch me napping that wheeze. The quick touch. Soft mark. I'd like my job. Valise I have a particular fancy for. Leather. Capped corners, rivetted edges, double action lever lock. Bob Cowley lent him his @@ -418,7 +418,7 @@ sat back quietly in his bench. The priest came down from the altar, holding the thing out from him, and he and the massboy answered each other in Latin. Then the priest knelt down and began to read off a card: -―O God, our refuge and our strength .....

+―O God, our refuge and our strength .....

Mr Bloom put his face forward to catch the words. English. Throw them the bone. I remember slightly. How long since your last mass? Glorious and immaculate virgin. Joseph, her spouse. Peter and Paul. More @@ -441,11 +441,11 @@ church. The doctors of the church: they mapped out the whole theology of it.

The priest prayed: -―Blessed Michael, archangel, defend us in the hour of conflict. Be our +―Blessed Michael, archangel, defend us in the hour of conflict. Be our safeguard against the wickedness and snares of the devil (may God restrain him, we humbly pray!): and do thou, O prince of the heavenly host, by the power of God thrust Satan down to hell and with him those other wicked -spirits who wander through the world for the ruin of souls.

+spirits who wander through the world for the ruin of souls.

The priest and the massboy stood up and walked off. All over. The women remained behind: thanksgiving.

Better be shoving along. Brother Buzz. Come around with the plate @@ -483,15 +483,15 @@ of laudanum. Sleeping draughts. Lovephiltres. Paragoric poppysyrup bad for cough. Clogs the pores or the phlegm. Poisons the only cures. Remedy where you least expect it. Clever of nature. -―About a fortnight ago, sir? -―Yes, Mr Bloom said.

+―About a fortnight ago, sir? +―Yes, Mr Bloom said.

He waited by the counter, inhaling slowly the keen reek of drugs, the dusty dry smell of sponges and loofahs. Lot of time taken up telling your aches and pains. -―Sweet almond oil and tincture of benzoin, Mr Bloom said, and then -orangeflower water ....

+―Sweet almond oil and tincture of benzoin, Mr Bloom said, and then +orangeflower water ....

It certainly did make her skin so delicate white like wax. -―And white wax also, he said.

+―And white wax also, he said.

Brings out the darkness of her eyes. Looking at me, the sheet up to her eyes, Spanish, smelling herself, when I was fixing the links in my cuffs. Those homely recipes are often the best: strawberries for the teeth: nettles @@ -505,41 +505,41 @@ Do it in the bath. Curious longing I. Water to water. Combine business with pleasure. Pity no time for massage. Feel fresh then all the day. Funeral be rather glum. -―Yes, sir, the chemist said. That was two and nine. Have you brought a -bottle? -―No, Mr Bloom said. Make it up, please. I'll call later in the day and I'll -take one of these soaps. How much are they? -―Fourpence, sir.

+―Yes, sir, the chemist said. That was two and nine. Have you brought a +bottle? +―No, Mr Bloom said. Make it up, please. I'll call later in the day and I'll +take one of these soaps. How much are they? +―Fourpence, sir.

Mr Bloom raised a cake to his nostrils. Sweet lemony wax. -―I'll take this one, he said. That makes three and a penny. -―Yes, sir, the chemist said. You can pay all together, sir, when you come -back. -―Good, Mr Bloom said.

+―I'll take this one, he said. That makes three and a penny. +―Yes, sir, the chemist said. You can pay all together, sir, when you come +back. +―Good, Mr Bloom said.

He strolled out of the shop, the newspaper baton under his armpit, the coolwrappered soap in his left hand.

At his armpit Bantam Lyons' voice and hand said: -―Hello, Bloom. What's the best news? Is that today's? Show us a minute.

+―Hello, Bloom. What's the best news? Is that today's? Show us a minute.

Shaved off his moustache again, by Jove! Long cold upper lip. To look younger. He does look balmy. Younger than I am.

Bantam Lyons's yellow blacknailed fingers unrolled the baton. Wants a wash too. Take off the rough dirt. Good morning, have you used Pears' soap? Dandruff on his shoulders. Scalp wants oiling. -―I want to see about that French horse that's running today, Bantam -Lyons said. Where the bugger is it?

+―I want to see about that French horse that's running today, Bantam +Lyons said. Where the bugger is it?

He rustled the pleated pages, jerking his chin on his high collar. Barber's itch. Tight collar he'll lose his hair. Better leave him the paper and get shut of him. -―You can keep it, Mr Bloom said. -―Ascot. Gold cup. Wait, Bantam Lyons muttered. Half a mo. Maximum -the second. -―I was just going to throw it away, Mr Bloom said.

+―You can keep it, Mr Bloom said. +―Ascot. Gold cup. Wait, Bantam Lyons muttered. Half a mo. Maximum +the second. +―I was just going to throw it away, Mr Bloom said.

Bantam Lyons raised his eyes suddenly and leered weakly. -―What's that? his sharp voice said. -―I say you can keep it, Mr Bloom answered. I was going to throw it away -that moment.

+―What's that? his sharp voice said. +―I say you can keep it, Mr Bloom answered. I was going to throw it away +that moment.

Bantam Lyons doubted an instant, leering: then thrust the outspread sheets back on Mr Bloom's arms. -―I'll risk it, he said. Here, thanks.

+―I'll risk it, he said. Here, thanks.

He sped off towards Conway's corner. God speed scut.

Mr Bloom folded the sheets again to a neat square and lodged the soap in it, smiling. Silly lips of that chap. Betting. Regular hotbed of it