Lynch!  Hey?  Sign on long o’ me.  Denzille lane this way.  Change here for Bawdyhouse.  We two, she said, will seek the kips where shady Mary is.  Righto, any old time.  LAETABUNTUR in CUBILIBUS SUIS.  You coming long?  Whisper, who the sooty hell’s the johnny in the black duds?  Hush!  Sinned against the light and even now that day is at hand when he shall come to judge the world by fire.  Pflaap!  UT IMPLERENTUR SCRIPTURAE.  Strike up a ballad.  Then outspake medical Dick to his comrade medical Davy.  Christicle, who’s this excrement yellow gospeller on the Merrion hall?  Elijah is coming!  Washed in the blood of the Lamb.  Come on you winefizzling, ginsizzling, booseguzzling existences!  Come on, you dog-gone, bullnecked, beetlebrowed, hogjowled, peanutbrained, weaseleyed fourflushers, false alarms and excess baggage!  Come on, you triple extract of infamy!  Alexander J Christ Dowie, that’s my name, that’s yanked to glory most half this planet from Frisco beach to Vladivostok.  The Deity aint no nickel dime bumshow.  I put it to you that He’s on the square and a corking fine business proposition.  He’s the grandest thing yet and don’t you forget it.  Shout salvation in King Jesus.  You’ll need to rise precious early you sinner there, if you want to diddle the Almighty God.  Pflaaaap!  Not half.  He’s got a coughmixture with a punch in it for you, my friend, in his back pocket.  Just you try it on.

* * * * * * *

The MABBOT street entrance of nighttown, before which stretches an
UNCOBBLED TRAMSIDING set with skeleton tracks, red and green will-O’-the-
wisps and danger signals.  Rows of grimy houses with gaping doors.  Rare
lamps with faint rainbow fins.  Round Rabaiotti’s halted ice Gondola
stunted men and women squabble.  They grab wafers between which are wedged
lumps of coral and copper snow.  Sucking, they scatter slowly.  Children. 
The SWANCOMB of the Gondola, HIGHREARED, forges on through the murk,
white and blue under A lighthouse.  Whistles call and answer.

The calls:  Wait, my love, and I’ll be with you.

The answers:  Round behind the stable.

(A DEAFMUTE idiot with goggle eyes, his shapeless mouth dribbling, jerks
past, shaken in saint Vitus’ dance.  A chain of children ’S hands
imprisons him.)