Having my way with Ulysses

I do not like that other world.

• The Lotus-Eaters

There would he lay till they would him descry, spancelled down upon a blossomy bed, at one foule stretch, amongst the daffydowndillies, the flowers of narcosis fourfettering his footlights, a halohedge of wild spuds hovering over him, epicures waltzing with gardenfillers, puritan shoots advancing to Aran chiefs. 10:10 am

Email from Martha.  Attachment: a yellow flower.  Aconite?  Not what I thought.  What is she saying?  No waiting?  I didn’t go too far then.  She’s angry with me.  Naughty boy.  Wants me to wrote back before her patience are exhausted.  And wants the real meaning of.  Afraid of words.  I can be brutal, why not?  Says will punish me, naughty boy.  Go further next time.  And give her Molly’s perfume, what perfume does your wife?

Intercourse, eyeball to eyeball.