Mr Leopold Bloom ate with relish the inner organs of beasts and fowls. Mr Leopold Bloom dreamed, hankered, pined and lusted after rillettes. Lusted and craved, much like his vague lusts for the fragrant French girls he imagined gliding around the markets, the boucheries, the charcuteries of the belly of Paris the ventre de Paris as some might say. Some more refined than he, refined in the tastes of the European if a taste for sickly liquorice absinthe can be considered refined maybe not around here of course. A cup of tea was refined around here and of course it is. Refined is relative.
Molly knew things. Secret things mainly. Unspoken things. Unthought things. Molly knew the recipe for rillettes and it was hers and would never be his. Not never. Maybe Boylan knew it. Maybe he didn’t. You shouldn’t ask if you don’t want to know the answer. Mr…
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