Sollers:
What he said,
The dowser!
Merrick:
Ay, about his yellowhammers.
Sollers:
And there's a kind of stifle in the air
Already!
Merrick:
It seems to me, my breathing goes
All hot down my windpipe, hot as cider
Mulled and steaming travels down my swallow.
Sollers:
And a queer racing through my ears of blood.