. . .

Her eyes go far away.

“There is a chthonic beast,” she says, as if reciting, “that dwells and roils it in a vast and bubbly cavern; its revelries were furious, blasphemous, and delightful until the svart-elves caught it — bound it, chained it, tied it down, pinioned it with chains to the five corners of its cavern, held it down to bubble under the surface of its black and tasty lake. Then did the Pepsi-Cola Corporation send down its drills — so I am told — to pull up a delightful beverage from its veins; and this, as it keeps the beast quiescent and from raging out across the world, the svart-elves do allow.”

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