Page 477
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Jump to navigationJump to searchAnd it is what they began to say to him tetrahedrally then, the masters, what way was he. — He's giving, the wee bairn. Yun has lived. — Yerra, why dat, my leader? — Wisha, is he boosed or what, alannah? — Or his wind's from the wrong cut, says Ned of the Hill. — Lesten! — Why so and speak up, do you hear me, you sir? — Or he's rehearsing somewan's funeral. — Whisht outathat! Hubba's up! And as they were spreading abroad on their octopuds their drifter nets, the chromous gleamy seiners' nets and,no lie, there was word of assonance being softspoken among those quartermasters. — Get busy, kid! — Chirpy, come now! — The present hospices is a good time. — I'll take on that chap. For it was in the back of their mind's ear, temptive lissomer, how they would be spreading in quadriliberal their azurespotted fine attractable nets, their nansen nets, from Matt Senior to the thurrible mystagogue after him and from thence to the neighbour and that way to the puisny donkeyman and his crucifer's cauda. And in their minds years backslibris, so it was, slipping beauty, how they would be meshing that way, when he rose to it, with the planckton at play about him, the quivers of scaly silver and their clutches of chromes of the highly lucid spanishing gold whilst, as hour gave way to mazing hour, with Yawn himself keeping time with his thripthongue, to ope his blurbeous lips he would, a let out classy, the way myrrh of the moor and molten moonmist would be melding mellifond indo his mouth. — Y? — Before You! — Ecko! How sweet thee answer makes! Afterwheres? In the land of lions' odor? — Friends! First if yu don't mind. Name yur historical grouns. — This same prehistoric barrow 'tis, the orangery.
