A vision of battlements

Posted: January 20, 2012 in Prosa
– What year would that be about?  Mr Bloom interpolated.
Can you recall the boats?
Our soi-distant sailor munched heavily awhile, hungrily, before answering.
– I’m tired of all them rocks in the sea, he said, and boats and ships.  Salt junk all the time.
Tired, seemingly, he ceased.

James Joyce, Ulysses
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