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Updated: May 18, 2025
It was a beautiful thing, that dance, grotesque, pagan, and yet divine, and through it all, panting and pulsing, sounded the strange, incomprehensible words: "Skib, skib, skibble de de dosh!" While the rite was at high tide a young fellow, lying prone under a clump of trees beyond the open space, looked on, first in amaze mingled with amusement, and then with delight and admiration.
"Skib, skib, skibble de de dosh!" Again the deep and sweeping courtesy and chanting of the weird words. The final "dosh!" held, in its low, fierce tone, all the significance of abject adoration. With that "dosh" had the child Priscilla wooed the favour and recognition of the god. It was a triumph of appeal.
Then, as suddenly as it had begun, the dance ceased, a flushed face confronted the reflection in the glass, and a low curtsey followed, while a reverent voice repeated as if in prayer: "Skib, skib, skibble de de dosh!" The words came of their own volition; they were part and kin to the mood that held and swayed her.
"It means," she breathed, advancing upon her mother's retreating form, "it means skib, skib, skibble de de dosh!" At this she had her mother by the shoulders and was seeking to kiss the affrighted and appalled face. Theodora escaped her, and realized that a changeling had indeed entered her home. An unknown element was here.
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