I’m suffering the agony of the damned. By the hoky fiddle, thanks be to Jesus those funny little chaps are not unanimous. If they were they’d walk me off the face of the bloody globe.

Shall carry my heart to thee, Shall carry my heart to thee, And the breath of the balmy night Shall carry my heart to thee.

Tears open the silverfoil. Fingers was made before forks. She breaks off and nibbles a piece, gives a piece to Kitty Ricketts and then turns kittenishly to Lynch . No objection to French lozenges? He nods. She taunts him. Have it now or wait till you get it? He opens his mouth, his head cocked. She whirls the prize in left circle. His head follows. She whirls it back in right circle. He eyes her.