ULYSSES. James Joyce

halted on sir John Gray’s pavement island and peered aloft at Nelson through the meshes of his wry smile.

      DIMINISHED DIGITS PROVE TOO TITILLATING FOR FRISKY FRUMPS. ANNE WIMBLES, FLO WANGLES — YET CAN YOU BLAME THEM?

      — Onehandled adulterer, he said grimly. That tickles me I must say.

      — Tickled the old ones too, Myles Crawford said, if the God Almighty’s truth was known.