| page seventeen Do you use that thing a whole lot then?
He asked in a wary way, but plunged on
 For his desperate end, without pause;
 Fact is, um Stumpy
 I really need to know a bit of guff
 'Cause the sharks are biting at my bum
 And those wheels out there will never beat them to the gun.
 Be my guest, came the quick reply, I know that feeling well;
This business hangs by fish hooks in the clouds …
 The stranger slipped without a word upon his task,
 His fingers flew, and numbers danced like dervishes
 About a witch's brew, while Stumpy watched
 And marvelled, and envied such control
 Of empires built and banished with the speed of thought.
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