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James Joyce : the Anna Livia Plurabelle section from Finnegans Wake (1939) Read by Siobhan  McKenna.

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                                  O

                     tell me all about

               Anna Livia! I want to hear all

about Anna Livia. Well, you know Anna Livia? Yes, of course,

we all know Anna Livia. Tell me all. Tell me now. You'll die

when you hear. Well, you know, when the old cheb went futt

and did what you know. Yes, I know, go on. Wash quit and

don't be dabbling. Tuck up your sleeves and loosen your talk-

tapes. And don't butt me — hike! — when you bend. Or what-

ever it was they threed to make out he thried to two in the

Fiendish park. He's an awful old reppe. Look at the shirt of him!

Look at the dirt of it! He has all my water black on me. And it

steeping and stuping since this time last wik. How many goes

is it I wonder I washed it? I know by heart the places he likes to

saale, duddurty devil! Scorching my hand and starving my fa-

mine to make his private linen public. Wallop it well with your

battle and clean it. My wrists are wrusty rubbing the mouldaw

stains. And the dneepers of wet and the gangres of sin in it! What

was it he did a tail at all on Animal Sendai? And how long was

he under loch and neagh? It was put in the newses what he did,

nicies and priers, the King fierceas Humphrey, with illysus dis-

tilling, exploits and all. But toms will till. I know he well. Temp

untamed will hist for no man. As you spring so shall you neap.

O, the roughty old rappe! Minxing marrage and making loof.

 

Reeve Gootch was right and Reeve Drughad was sinistrous! And

the cut of him! And the strut of him! How he used to hold his

head as high as a howeth, the famous eld duke alien, with a hump

of grandeur on him like a walking wiesel rat. And his derry's

own drawl and his corksown blather and his doubling stutter

and his gullaway swank. Ask Lictor Hackett or Lector Reade

of Garda Growley or the Boy with the Billyclub. How elster is

he a called at all? Qu'appelle? Huges Caput Earlyfouler. Or

where was he born or how was he found?

I heard he dug good tin with his doll, delvan first and duvlin

after, when he raped her home, Sabrine asthore, in a parakeet's

cage, by dredgerous lands and devious delts, playing catched and

mythed with the gleam of her shadda, (if a flic had been there to

pop up and pepper him!) past auld min's manse and Maisons

Allfou and the rest of incurables and the last of immurables, the

quaggy waag for stumbling. Who sold you that jackalantern's

tale? Pemmican's pasty pie! Not a grasshoop to ring her, not an

antsgrain of ore.

Shyr she's nearly as badher as him herself.

Who? Anna Livia? Ay, Anna Livia. Do you know she was call-

ing bakvandets sals from all around, nyumba noo, chamba choo,

to go in till him, her erring cheef, and tickle the pontiff aisy-oisy?

She was? Gota pot! Yssel that the limmat? As El Negro winced

when he wonced in La Plate. O, tell me all I want to hear, how

loft she was lift a laddery dextro! A coneywink after the bunting

fell. Letting on she didn't care, sina feza, me absantee, him man

in passession, the proxenete! Proxenete and phwhat is phthat?

Emme for your reussischer Honddu jarkon! Tell us in franca

langua. And call a spate a spate. Did they never sharee you ebro

at skol, you antiabecedarian? It's just the same as if I was to go

par examplum now in conservancy's cause out of telekinesis and

proxenete you. For coxyt sake and is that what she is? Botlettle

I thought she'd act that loa. Didn't you spot her in her windaug,

wubbling up on an osiery chair, with a meusic before her all

cunniform letters, pretending to ribble a reedy derg on a fiddle

she bogans without a band on? Sure she can't fiddan a dee, with

bow or abandon! Sure, she can't! Tista suck. Well, I never now

heard the like of that! Tell me moher. Tell me moatst.

Tell me every tiny teign. I want  to know every single ingul.

How many aleveens had she in tool? I can't

rightly rede you that. Close only knows. Some say she had three

figures to fill and confined herself to a hundred eleven, wan by-

wan bywan, making meanacuminamoyas. Olaph lamm et, all that

pack? We won't have room in the kirkeyaard. She can't remember

half of the cradlenames she smacked on them by the grace of her

boxing bishop's infallible slipper, the cane for Kund and abbles for

Eyolf and ayther nayther for Yakov Yea. A hundred and how?

They did well to rechristien her Pluhurabelle. O loreley! What a

loddon lodes!   

 

Heehaw! She must have been a gadabount in her day, so she

must, more than most. Shoal she was, gidgad. She had a flewmen

of her owen. Then a toss nare scared that lass, so aimai moe,

that's agapo! Tell me, tell me, how cam she camlin through all

her fellows, the neckar she was, the diveline? Casting her perils

before our swains from Fonte-in-Monte to Tidingtown and

from Tidingtown tilhavet. Linking one and knocking the next,

tapting a flank and tipting a jutty and palling in and pietaring

out and clyding by on her eastway. Waiwhou was the first thur-

ever burst? Someone he was, whuebra they were, in a tactic attack

or in single combat. Tinker, tilar, souldrer, salor, Pieman Peace

or Polistaman. That's the thing I'm elwys on edge to esk. Push

up and push vardar and come to uphill headquarters!

Such a loon waybash-wards to row! She sid herself she hardly knows whuon

the annals her graveller was, a dynast of Leinster, a wolf of the sea, or what

he did or how blyth she played or how, when, why, where and

who offon he jumpnad her and how it was gave her away. She

was just a young thin pale soft shy slim slip of a thing then,

sauntering, by silvamoonlake and he was a heavy trudging

lurching lieabroad of a Curraghman, making his hay for whose

sun to shine on, as tough as the oaktrees (peats be with them!)

used to rustle that time down by the dykes of killing Kildare,

for forstfellfoss with a plash across her. She thought she's sankh

neathe the ground with nymphant shame when he gave her the

tigris eye! O happy fault! Me wish it was he! You're wrong there,

corribly wrong! Tisn't only tonight you're anacheronistic!

It was ages behind that when nullahs were nowhere, in county

Wickenlow, garden of Erin, before she ever dreamt she'd lave

Kilbride and go foaming under Horsepass bridge, with the great

southerwestern windstorming her traces and the midland's grain-

waster asarch for her track, to wend her ways byandby, robecca

or worse, to spin and to grind, to swab and to thrash, for all her

golden lifey in the barleyfields and pennylotts of Humphrey's

fordofhurdlestown and lie with a landleaper, wellingtonorseher.

Alesse, the lagos of girly days! For the dove of the dunas!

 

Dell me where, the fairy ferse time! I

will if you listen. You know the dinkel dale of Luggelaw? Well,

there once dwelt a local heremite, Michael Arklow was his river-

end name, (with many a sigh I aspersed his lavabibs!) and one

venersderg in junojuly, oso sweet and so cool and so limber she

looked, Nance the Nixie, Nanon L'Escaut, in the silence, of the sycomores, all listening, the kindling curves you simply can't stop

feeling, he plunged both of his newly anointed hands, the core of

his cushlas, in her singimari saffron strumans of hair, parting them

and soothing her and mingling it, that was deepdark and ample

like this red bog at sundown. By that Vale Vowclose's lucydlac,

the reignbeau's heavenarches arronged orranged her. Afroth-

dizzying galbs, her enamelled eyes indergoading him on to the

vierge violetian. Wish a wish! Why a why? Mavro! Letty Lerck's

lafing light throw those laurals now on her daphdaph teasesong

petrock. Maass! But the majik wavus has elfun anon meshes.

And Simba the Slayer of his Oga is slewd. He cuddle not help

himself, thurso that hot on him, he had to forget the monk in

the man so, rubbing her up and smoothing her down, he baised

his lippes in smiling mood, kiss akiss after kisokushk (as he

warned her niver to, niver to, nevar) on Anna-na-Poghue's of

the freckled forehead. While you'd parse secheressa she hielt her

souff'. But she ruz two feet hire in her aisne aestumation. And

steppes on stilts ever since. That was kissuahealing with bantur

for balm! O, wasn't he the bold priest? And wasn't she the

naughty Livvy? Nautic Naama's now her navn. Two lads in

scoutsch breeches went through her before that, Barefoot Burn

and Wallowme Wade, Lugnaquillia's noblesse pickts, before she

had a hint of a hair at her fanny to hide or a bossom to tempt a

birch canoedler not to mention a bulgic porterhouse barge. And

ere that again, leada, laida, all unraidy, too faint to buoy the

fairiest rider, too frail to flirt with a cygnet's plume, she was licked

by a hound, Chirripa-Chirruta, while poing her pee, pure and

simple, on the spur of the hill in old Kippure, in birdsong and

shearingtime, but first of all, worst of all, the wiggly livvly, she

sideslipped out by a gap in the Devil's glen while Sally her nurse

was sound asleep in a sloot and, feefee fiefie, fell over a spillway

before she found her stride and lay and wriggled in all the stag-

nant black pools of rainy under a fallow coo and she laughed

innocefree with her limbs aloft and a whole drove of maiden

hawthorns blushing and looking askance upon her.

O go in, go on, go an! I mean

about what you know. I know right well what you mean. Rother!

You'd like the coifs and guimpes, snouty, and me to do the

greasy jub on old Veronica's wipers.

O, may the diabolo twisk your seifety pin! You child of

Mammon, Kinsella's Lilith! Now who has been tearing the leg

of her drawars on her? Which leg is it? The one with the bells

on it. Rinse them out and aston along with you! Where did I

stop? Never stop! Continuarration! You're not there yet. I

amstel waiting. Garonne, garonne!

    Well, after it was put in the Mericy Cordial Mendicants' Sitter-

dag-Zindeh-Munaday Wakeschrift (for once they sullied their

white kidloves, chewing cuds after their dinners of cheeckin and

beggin, with their show us it here and their mind out of that and

their when you're quite finished with the reading matarial), even

the snee that snowdon his hoaring hair had a skunner against

him. Thaw, thaw, sava, savuto! Score Her Chuff Exsquire!

Everywhere erriff you went and every bung you arver dropped

into, in cit or suburb or in addled areas, the Rose and Bottle or

Phoenix Tavern or Power's Inn or Jude's Hotel or wherever you

scoured the countryside from Nannywater to Vartryville or from

Porta Lateen to the lootin quarter you found his ikom etsched

tipside down or the cornerboys cammocking his guy and Morris

the Man And the mauldrin rabble around him in areopage, fracassing a great bingkan cagnan with their timpan crowders. Mind your Grimm-father! Think of your Ma! Hing the Hong is his jove's hangnomen ! Lilt a bolero, bulling a law ! She swore on croststyx nyne wyndabouts she's be level with all the snags of them yet. Par the Vulnerable Virgin's Mary del Dame! So she said to herself she'd frame a plan to fake a shine, the mischiefmaker, the like of it you niever heard. What plan? Tell me quick and dongu so crould! What the meurther did she mague? Well, she bergened a zakbag, a shammy mailsack, with the lend of a loan of the light of his lampion, off one of her swapsons, Shaun the Post, and then she went and consulted her chapboucqs, old Mot Moore, Casey'sEuclid and the Fashion Display and made herself tidal to join in the mascarete. O gig goggle of gigguels. I can't tell you how! It's too screaming to rizo, rabbit it all! Minneha, minnehi mina-aehe, minneho!

O but you must, you must really! Make my hear

it gurgle gurgle, like the farest gargle gargle in the dusky dirgle

dargle! By the holy well of Mulhuddart I swear I'd pledge my

chanza getting to heaven through Tirry and Killy's mount of

impiety to hear it all, aviary word! O, leave me my faculties,

woman, a while! If you don't like my story get out of the punt.

Well, have it your own way, so. Here, sit down and do as you're

bid. Take my stroke and bend to your bow. Forward in and pull

your overthepoise! Lisp it slaney and crisp it quiet. Deel me long-

some. Tongue your time now. Breathe thet deep. Thouat's the

fairway. Hurry slow and scheldt you go. Lynd us your blessed

ashes here till I scrub the canon's underpants. Flow now. Ower

more. And pooleypooley.

    First she let her hair fal and down it flussed to her feet its

teviots winding coils. Then, mothernaked, she sampood herself

with galawater and fraguant pistania mud, wupper and lauar,

from crown to sole. Next she greesed the groove of her keel,

warthes and wears and mole and itcher, with antifouling butter-

scatch and turfentide and serpenthyme and with leafmould she

ushered round prunella isles and eslats dun, quincecunct, allover

her little mary. Peeld gold of waxwork her jellybelly and her grains of incense anguille bronze.

And after that she wove a garland for her hair. She pleated it. She plaited it. Of meadowgrass and riverflags, the bulrush and waterweed, and of fallen griefs of weeping willow. Then she made her bracelets and her anklets and her armlets and a jetty amulet for necklace of clicking cobbles and pattering pebbles and rumbledown rubble, richmond and rehr, of Irish rhunerhinerstones and shellmarble bangles. That

done, a dawk of smut to her airy ey, Annushka Lutetiavitch

Pufflovah, and the lellipos cream to her lippeleens and the pick

of the paintbox for her pommettes, from strawbirry reds to

extra violates, and she sendred her boudeloire maids to His

Affluence, Ciliegia Grande and Kirschie Real, the two chirsines,

with respecks from his missus, seepy and sewery, and a request

might she passe of him for a minnikin. A call to pay and light a

taper, in Brie-on-Arrosa, back in a sprizzling. The cock striking

mine, the stalls bridely sign, there's Zambosy waiting for Me!

She said she wouldn't be half her length away. Then, then, as

soon as the lump his back was turned, with her mealiebag slang

over her shulder, Anna Livia, oysterface, forth of her bassein

came.

But what was the game in her mixed baggyrhatty? Just the

tembo in her tumbo or pilipili from her pepperpot? Saas and

taas and specis bizaas. And where in thunder did she plunder?

Fore the battle or efter the ball? I want to get it frisk from the

soorce. I aubette my bearb it's worth while poaching on! Shake

it up, do, do! That's a good old son of a ditch! I promise I'll

make it worth your while. And I don't mean maybe. Nor yet

with a goodfor. Spey me pruth and I'll tale you true.

    Well, arundgirond in a waveney lyne aringarouma she pattered

and swung and sidled, dribbling her boulder through narrowa

mosses, the diliskydrear on our drier side and the vilde vetchvine

agin us, curara here, careero there, not knowing which medway

or weser to strike it, edereider, making chattahoochee all to her

ain chichiu, like Santa Claus at the cree of the pale and puny,

nistling to hear for their tiny hearties, her arms encircling Isola-

bella, then running with reconciled Romas and Reims, on like a

lech to be off like a dart, then bathing Dirty Hans' spatters with

spittle, with a Christmas box apiece for aisch and iveryone of her

childer, the birthday gifts they dreamt they gabe her, the spoiled

she fleetly laid at our door! On the matt, by the pourch and in-

under the cellar. The rivulets ran aflod to see, the glashaboys, the

pollynooties. Out of the paunschaup on to the pyre. And they all

about her, juvenile leads and ingenuinas, from the slime of their

slums and artesaned wellings, rickets and riots, like the Smyly

boys at their vicereine's levee. Vivi vienne, little Annchen! Vielo

Anna, high life! Sing us a sula, O, susuria! Ausone sidulcis!

Hasn't she tambre! Chipping her and raising a bit of a chir or a

jary every dive she'd neb in her culdee sacco of wabbash she

raabed and reach out her maundy meerschaundize, poor souvenir as per ricorder and all for sore aringarung, stinkers and heelers,

laggards and primelads, her furzeborn sons and dribblederry

daughters, a thousand and one of them, and wickerpotluck for

each of them. For evil and ever. And kiks the buch. A tinker's

bann and a barrow to boil his billy for Gipsy Lee; a cartridge of

cockaleekie soup for Chummy the Guardsman; for sulky Pen-

der's acid nephew deltoïd drops, curiously strong; a cough and

a rattle and wildrose cheeks for poor Piccolina Petite MacFarlane;

a jigsaw puzzle of needles and pins and blankets and shins between

them for Isabel, Jezebel and Llewelyn Mmarriage; a brazen nose

and pigiron mittens for Johnny Walker Beg; a papar flag of the

saints and stripes for Kevineen O'Dea; a puffpuff for Pudge Craig

and a nightmarching hare for Techertim Tombigby; waterleg

and gumboots each for Bully Hayes and Hurricane Hartigan;

a prodigal heart and fatted calves for Buck Jones, the pride of

Clonliffe; a loaf of bread and a father's early aim for Val from

Skibereen; a jauntingcar for Larry Doolin, the Ballyclee jackeen;

a seasick trip on a government ship for Teague O'Flanagan; a

louse and trap for Jerry Coyle; slushmincepies for Andy Mac-

kenzie; a hairclip and clackdish for Penceless Peter; that twelve

sounds look for G. V. Brooke; a drowned doll, to face down-

wards for modest Sister Anne Mortimer; altar falls for Blanchisse's

bed; Wildairs' breechettes for Magpeg Woppington; to Sue Dot

a big eye; to Sam Dash a false step; snakes in clover, picked and

scotched, and a vaticanned viper catcher's visa for Patsy Presbys;

a reiz every morning for Standfast Dick and a drop every minute

for Stumblestone Davy; a praises be and spare me days for Brian the

Bravo; penteplenty of pity with lubilashings of lust for Olona

Lena Magdalena; for Camilla, Dromilla, Ludmilla, Mamilla, a

bucket, a packet, a book and a pillow; for Nancy Shannon a

Tuami brooch; for Dora Riparia Hopeandwater a cooling douche

and a warmingpan; a pair of Blarney braggs for Wally Meagher;

a hairpin slatepencil for Elsie Oram to scratch her toby, doing

her best with her volgar fractions; an old age pension for Betty

Bellezza; a bag of the blues for Funny Fitz; a Missa pro Messa for

Taff de Taff; Jill, the spoon of a girl, for Jack, the broth of a boy; whatever you like to swilly to swash, Yuinness or Yennessy, Laagen or Niger, for Festus King and Roaring Peter and Frisky Shorty and Treacle Tom and O. B. Behan and Sully the Thug and Master Magrath and Peter Cloran and O'Delawarr Rossa and Nerone MacPacem and whoever you chance to meet knocking around; and a pig's bladder balloon for Selina Susquehanna Stakelum. But what did she give to Pruda Ward and Katty Kanel and Peggy Quilty and Briery Brosna and Teasy Kieran and Ena Lappin and Muriel Maassy and Zusan Camac and Melissa Bradogue and Flora Ferns and Fauna Fox-Goodman and Grettna Greaney and Penelope Inglesante and Lezba Licking like Leytha Liane and Roxana Rohan with Simpatica

Sohan and Una Bina Laterza and Trina La Mesme and Philomena

O'Farrell and Irmak Elly and Josephine Foyle and Snakeshead

Lily and Fountainoy Laura and Marie Xavier Agnes Daisy

Frances de Sales Macleay? She gave them ilcka madre's daughter

a moonflower and a bloodvein: but the grapes that ripe before

reason to them that devide the vinedress. So on Izzy, her shame-

maid, love shone befond her tears as from Shem, her penmight,

life past befoul his prime. My colonial, wardha bagful!

But O, gihon! I lovat a gabber. I could listen to maure

and moravar again. Regn onder river. Flies do your float. Thick

is the life for mere.

    Well, you know or don't you kennet or haven't I told you

every telling has a taling and that's the he and the she of it. Look,

look, the dusk is growing! My branches lofty are taking root.

And my cold cher's gone ashley. Fieluhr? Filou! What age is at?

It saon is late. 'Tis endless now senne eye or erewone last saw

Waterhouse's clogh. They took it asunder, I hurd thum sigh.

When will they reassemble it? O, my back, my back, my bach!

I'd want to go to Aches-les-Pains. Pingpong! There's the Belle

for Sexaloitez! And Concepta de Send-us-pray! Pang! Wring out

the clothes! Wring in the dew! Godavari, vert the showers! And

grant thaya grace! Aman. Will we spread them here now? Ay,

we will. Flip ! Spread on your bank and I'll spread mine on mine.

Flep! It's what I'm doing. Spread ! It's churning chill. Der went is

rising. I'll lay a few stones on the hostel sheets. A man and his bride

embraced between them. Else I'd have sprinkled and folded them

only. And I'll tie my butcher's apron here. It's suety yet. The

strollers will pass it by. Six shifts, ten kerchiefs, nine to hold to

the fire and this for the code, the convent napkins, twelve, one

baby's shawl. Good mother Jossiph knows, she said. Whose

head? Mutter snores? Deataceas! Wharnow are alle her childer,

say? In kingdome gone or power to come gloria be to them

farther? Allalivial, allalluvial! Some here, more no more, more

again lost alla stranger.

 Do you tell me that now? I do in troth. Orara por Orbe and poor Las Animas!

Ussa, Ulla, we're umbas all! Mezha, didn't you hear it a deluge of

times, ufer and ufer, respund to spond? You deed, you deed! I

need, I need! It's that irrawaddyng I've stoke in my aars. It all

but husheth the lethest zswound. Oronoko! What's your trouble?

Is that the great Finnleader himself in his joakimono on his statue

riding the high horse there forehengist? Father of Otters, it is

himself! Yonne there! Isset that? On Fallareen Common? You're

thinking of Astley's Amphitheayter where the bobby restrained

you making sugarstuck pouts to the ghostwhite horse of the

Peppers. Throw the cobwebs from your eyes, woman, and spread

your washing proper! It's well I know your sort of slop. Flap!

Ireland sober is Ireland stiff Lord help you, Maria, full of grease,

the load is with me! Your prayers. I sonht zo! Madammangut!

Were you lifting your elbow, tell us, glazy cheeks, in Conway's

Carrigacurra canteen? Was I what, hobbledyhips? Flop! Your

rere gait's creakorheuman bitts your butts disagrees. Amn't I

up since the damp dawn, marthared mary allacook, with Corri-

gan's pulse and varicoarse veins, my pramaxle smashed, Alice

Jane in decline and my oneeyed mongrel twice run over, soaking

and bleaching boiler rags, and sweating cold, a widow like me,

for to deck my tennis champion son, the laundryman with the

lavandier flannels? You won your limpopo limp fron the husky

hussars when Collars and Cuffs was heir to the town and your

slur gave the stink to Carlow. Holy Scamander, I sar it again!

Near the golden falls. Icis on us! Seints of light! Zezere! Subdue

your noise, you hamble creature! What is it but a blackburry

growth or the dwyergray ass them four old codgers owns. Are

you meanam Tarpey and Lyons and Gregory? I meyne now,

thank all, the four of them, and the roar of them, that draves that

 stray in the mist and old Johnny MacDougal along with

them. Is that the Poolbeg flasher beyant, pharphar, or a fireboat

coasting nyar the Kishtna or a glow I behold within a hedge or

my Garry come back from the Indes? Wait till the honeying of

the lune, love! Die eve, little eve, die! We see that wonder in

your eye. We'll meet again, we'll part once more. The spot I'll

seek if the hour you'll find. My chart shines high where the blue

milk's upset. Forgivemequick, I'm going! Bubye! And you,

pluck your watch, forgetmenot. Your evenlode. So save to

jurna's end! My sights are swimming thicker on me by the sha-

dows to this place. I sow home slowly now by own way, moy-

valley way. Towy I too, rathmine.

    Ah, but she was the queer old skeowsha anyhow, Anna Livia,

trinkettoes! And sure he was the quare old buntz too, Dear Dirty

Dumpling, foostherfather of fingalls and dotthergills. Gammer

and gaffer we're all their gangsters. Hadn't he seven dams to wive

him? And every dam had her seven crutches. And every crutch

had its seven hues. And each hue had a differing cry. Sudds for

me and supper for you and the doctor's bill for Joe John. Befor!

Bifur! He married his markets, cheap by foul, I know, like any

Etrurian Catholic Heathen, in their pinky limony creamy birnies

and their turkiss indienne mauves. But at milkidmass who was

the spouse? Then all that was was fair. Tys Elvenland ! Teems of

times and happy returns. The seim anew. Ordovico or viricordo.

Anna was, Livia is, Plurabelle's to be. Northmen's thing made

southfolk's place but howmulty plurators made eachone in per-

son? Latin me that, my trinity scholard, out of eure sanscreed into

oure eryan! Hircus Civis Eblanensis! He had buckgoat paps on

him, soft ones for orphans. Ho, Lord ! Twins of his bosom. Lord

save us! And ho! Hey? What all men. Hot? His tittering daugh-

ters of. Whawk?

    Can't hear with the waters of. The chittering waters of. Flitter-

ing bats, fieldmice bawk talk. Ho! Are you not gone ahome?

What Thom Malone? Can't hear with bawk of bats, all thim liffey-

ing waters of. Ho, talk save us ! My foos won't moos. I feel as old

as yonder elm. A tale told of Shaun or Shem? All Livia's daughter-

sons. Dark hawks hear us. Night! Night! My ho head halls. I feel as

 heavy as yonder stone. Tell me of John or Shaun? Who were

Shem and Shaun the living sons or daughters of? Night now!

Tell me, tell me, tell me, elm! Night night! Telmetale of stem or

stone. Beside the rivering waters of, hitherandthithering waters

of. Night!

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