Odysseus washes up at the river-mouth where Nausicaa has come to do the washing with her maids. Joyce places his own washed-out hero on the rocks of Sandymount Strand — the same Dublin beach where Stephen walked in Proteus that morning — at the cool blue hour of evening. Two characters who would never meet in any drawing room are placed by Joyce on a strip of sand, with a sea-wall between them and nothing to do but look.
The summer evening had begun to fold the world in its mysterious embrace.
