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(Murmurs.) Continue. Lie. Hold me. Caress. I never could read His handwriting except His criminal thumbprint on the haddock.

What day were you born?

Thursday. Today.

Thursday’s child has far to go. (She traces lines on his hand.) Line of fate. Influential friends.

(Pointing.) Imagination.

Mount of the moon. You’ll meet with a… (She peers at his hands abruptly.) I won’t tell you what’s not good for you. Or do you want to know?

(Detaches her fingers and offers his palm.) More harm than good. Here. Read mine.

Show. (She turns up Bloom’s hand.) I thought so. Knobby knuckles, for the women.

(Peering at Bloom’s palm.) Gridiron. Travels beyond the sea and marry money.

Wrong.

(Quickly.) O, I see. Short little finger. Henpecked husband. That wrong?