Ah.
His hand fell again to his side.
Never know anything about it. Waste of time. Gasballs spinning about, crossing each other, passing. Same old dingdong always. Gas, then solid, then world, then cold, then dead shell drifting around, frozen rock like that pineapple rock. The moon. Must be a new moon out, she said. I believe there is.
He went on by la Maison Claire.
Wait. The full moon was the night we were Sunday fortnight exactly there is a new moon. Walking down by the Tolka. Not bad for a Fairview moon. She was humming : The young May moon she's beaming, love. He other side of her. Elbow, arm. He. Glowworm's la-amp is gleaming love. Touch. Fingers. Asking. Answer. Yes.
1pm, Leopold Bloom wanders around Dublin to find some food, gazing around the city, thinking. His imagination is of course unnaturally rich, because it is really Joyce's stream of images that is entering Bloom's mind at this moment.
"Gassballs" is a striking image that can mean passers-by and/or matter in universe at its creation. And the "moon." Moon plays a critical role in tying the various moments of Bloom's life together in this short excerpt. As an image of a woman, (and also a rabbit, for Japanese people,) the moon evokes the memory of his girlfriend. But what's actually evoked is described with minimal use of words.
A lot is left to the reader's imagination in this passage.
