The harlot’s cry from street to street
Shall weave Old Ireland’s windingsheet.
PRIVATE CARR: _(Loosening his belt, shouts.)_ I’ll wring the neck of
any fucking bastard says a word against my bleeding fucking king.
BLOOM: _(Shakes Cissy Caffrey’s shoulders.)_ Speak, you! Are you struck
dumb? You are the link between nations and generations. Speak, woman,
sacred lifegiver!
CISSY CAFFREY: _(Alarmed, seizes Private Carr’s sleeve.)_ Amn’t I with
you? Amn’t I your girl? Cissy’s your girl. _(She cries.)_ Police!