These timely
reflections anent the brutes of the field occupied his mind somewhat
distracted from Stephen's words while the ship of the street was
manoeuvring and Stephen went on about the highly interesting old.
--What's this I was saying? Ah, yes! My wife, he intimated, plunging IN
MEDIAS RES, would have the greatest of pleasure in making your
acquaintance as she is passionately attached to music of any kind.
He looked sideways in a friendly fashion at the sideface of Stephen,
image of his mother, which was not quite the same as the usual handsome
blackguard type they unquestionably had an insatiable hankering after as
he was perhaps not that way built.
Still, supposing he had his father's gift as he more than suspected, it
opened up new vistas in his mind such as Lady Fingall's Irish industries,
concert on the preceding Monday, and aristocracy in general.
Exquisite variations he was now describing on an air YOUTH HERE HAS END
by Jans Pieter Sweelinck, a Dutchman of Amsterdam where the frows come
from. Even more he liked an old German song of JOHANNES JEEP about the
clear sea and the voices of sirens, sweet murderers of men, which boggled
Bloom a bit:
VON DER SIRENEN LISTIGKEIT
TUN DIE POETEN DICHTEN.
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