Her ears ringing by the sudden tumult of cacaphony which the arrival of the SaucepanMan produced--such noise sounding all the louder given the relative quiet of the enforced withdrawal from the Downs--Bethberry--now in her party costume as Feyberry--could barely hear the voices of the revellers.
She nodded a warm welcome to Hilde Bracegirdle, and invited her over, along with a dazed and confused looking TGWBdozing. Meanwhile, holding her nose, she strained to catch what Fëá was saying to her, and looked not without some consternation at the train of deliquacious drippings that Fordim was leaving all over the simbelyne of the barrowfield.
In fact, Feyberry quickly plucked up a large trug full of the lovely scented flowers and proceeded to stuff them, decorously and of course to his great delight--he never having been so bouquetted before by her--in the holes left in Fordim by his decayed and rotting flesh.
Feyberry thought she had heard Fëá say something about hands, but she feared to say anything as she noticed Fordim had dropped one of his.
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