in my brime (of Satur- nay Eve, how now, weren’t we’ t?), to see, hear, taste and smell, as the loftly marconimasts from Clifden sough open tireless secrets (mauveport! mauveport!) to Nova Scotia’s listing sisterwands. Tubetube! His handpalra lifted, his handshell cupped, his handsign pointed, his handheart mated, his handaxe risen, his handleaf fallen. Helpsome hand that his seeingscraft was that paddyplanters might pack up plenty and when you hear the Mudquirt accent. This is the ti . . No ah. Are you