Clank it. Clank it. Miles of
it unreeled. What becomes of it after? O, wrap up meat, parcels: various
uses, thousand and one things.
Slipping his words deftly into the pauses of the clanking he drew
swiftly on the scarred woodwork.
HOUSE OF KEY(E)S
--Like that, see. Two crossed keys here. A circle. Then here the name.
Alexander Keyes, tea, wine and spirit merchant. So on.
Better not teach him his own business.
--You know yourself, councillor, just what he wants. Then round the top
in leaded: the house of keys. You see? Do you think that's a good idea?
The foreman moved his scratching hand to his lower ribs and scratched
there quietly.
--The idea, Mr Bloom said, is the house of keys. You know, councillor,
the Manx parliament. Innuendo of home rule. Tourists, you know, from the
isle of Man. Catches the eye, you see. Can you do that?
I could ask him perhaps about how to pronounce that VOGLIO. But
then if he didn't know only make it awkward for him. Better not.
--We can do that, the foreman said. Have you the design?
--I can get it, Mr Bloom said. It was in a Kilkenny paper.
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