BLOOM: You understood them?
THE YEWS: Ssh!
THE NYMPH: (Covers her face with her hands.) What have I not seen in that chamber? What must my eyes look down on?
BLOOM: (Apologetically.) I know. Soiled personal linen, wrong side up with care. The quoits are loose. From Gibraltar by long sea long ago.
THE NYMPH: (Bends her head.) Worse, worse!
BLOOM: (Reflects precautiously.) That antiquated commode. It wasn’t her weight. She scaled just eleven stone nine. She put on nine pounds after weaning. It was a crack and want of glue. Eh? And that absurd orangekeyed utensil which has only one handle.
(The sound of a waterfall is heard in bright cascade.)
THE WATERFALL:
Poulaphouca Poulaphouca
Poulaphouca Poulaphouca.
THE YEWS: (Mingling their boughs.) Listen. Whisper. She is right, our sister. We grew by Poulaphouca waterfall. We gave shade on languorous summer days.