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Here the lump of sandiver lay, while through its mass shot rays of vivid prismatic color, glowing and dying along its surface so vivaciously that one needs must fancy the salamander no fable, and that this death of gorgeous agony was something more than the mere cooling of an inert mass of matter.
"You shall see, for here is a pot just opened, and this man with the long iron rod, called a pontil, or punty, in his hand, is about to skim it." "What is there to skim off?" "Oh, there will be impurities, of course, however carefully the ingredients are prepared. Some of these sink to the bottom, and some rise in scum, or, as it is called here, glass-gall, and sometimes sandiver."
"Just like broth or society, isn't it, Optima?" suggested Miselle, aside. "Why don't you discover a social pontil, then?" "Oh, I have no taste for reforming. What would there be to laugh at in the world, if the human sandiver were removed?"
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