Blazes Bowman: legs gone palsied re-crossing Liffey, Portmanteaux worn skivvies inward out, woollen under-linen to dress-side; billfold stuffed with Queens Pinot; Irish turbidmoyle bluebells side-grave; bedside manor inexcusable, monks’ chips and suet; surplice worn over shoulder and rector, speyside frowned upon for Mort on salt; Irishman oddment, such calumny and prescience of mind, threadbare homily and Quaker’s roil.
He dreamt he was wearing a coalman’s cap a double-knit seafarer’s sweater and a pair of hobnail boots. He dreamt in his sleep, or so he said. His dreams were full to brimming with well-wishes balls of string and an egg-tray with Beeves’ and Ives handle-ware. He slept in his sleep, dreaming dreams about a world he felt at odds and evens with, dreaming dreamt dreams dreamt while dreaming he was asleep sleeping. He put on his coalman’s cap, his seafarer’s sweater and double-laced his hobnails, all while sleeping and dreaming dreams about wearing a coalman’s cap a double-knit seafarer’s sweater and a pair of hobnail boots. Dreams dreamt are never what they seem, or so he said.
In the swales of his lap he carried a tote-box full of crayons and a stirring-stick for stirring paint thicker than whey and marrow. He bartered and hawked, cajoled and argued, and made a fool of haggling and trade. ‘Who says a man can’t make a nickel from a Hogwarts ear, at a dime a dozen the trade is fair to haggling, and even were it not, the boasts a bogies well worth the bother.’ Imprecations felt sworn ort not, the dimes a nickel in trade, so off with his head and a wee bit off the side for God’s measure dais-ort.
He dreamt he was wearing a coalman’s cap a double-knit seafarer’s sweater and a pair of hobnail boots. He dreamt in his sleep, or so he said. His dreams were full to brimming with well-wishes balls of string and an egg-tray with Beeves’ and Ives handle-ware. He slept in his sleep, dreaming dreams about a world he felt at odds and evens with, dreaming dreamt dreams dreamt while dreaming he was asleep sleeping. He put on his coalman’s cap, his seafarer’s sweater and double-laced his hobnails, all while sleeping and dreaming dreams about wearing a coalman’s cap a double-knit seafarer’s sweater and a pair of hobnail boots. Dreams dreamt are never what they seem, or so he said.
In the swales of his lap he carried a tote-box full of crayons and a stirring-stick for stirring paint thicker than whey and marrow. He bartered and hawked, cajoled and argued, and made a fool of haggling and trade. ‘Who says a man can’t make a nickel from a Hogwarts ear, at a dime a dozen the trade is fair to haggling, and even were it not, the boasts a bogies well worth the bother.’ Imprecations felt sworn ort not, the dimes a nickel in trade, so off with his head and a wee bit off the side for God’s measure dais-ort.
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