Barron reached into his sportjac pocket (a gun? Howards thought wildly in a moment of pure panic), and put what looked like a small transistor radio with two speaker-grids down on the desk. One of those new Bell miniphones, Howards thought. “That’s why,” said Jack Barron. “Recognize it, don’t you? It’s one of those new miniphones that feed directly into the phone-satellite circuit, and it’s been picking up every word you said, feeding it directly back to New York to three separate vidphone recorders.[…]”

The Daughters of the Flood have ſearch'd the Mead / For Violets pale, and cropt the Poppy's Head: / The Short Narciſſus and fair Daffodil, / Pancies to pleaſe the Sight, and Caſſia ſvveet to ſmell: […]

Hither, my Juno! with your eyes so bovial, Give me a song—old Jove was ever joveial.

I am unwont to press my favours, or to deal with priests who require entreaty, when gifts are held out to them.