.

.

" Here, Dag Daughtry broke down from inability to express the concepts fluttering in his beer-excited, beer-sodden brain, and, with a stutter or two, made a fresh start.
"You know, it's all in the matter of talkin', an' Killeny can't talk.
He's got thoughts inside that head of his--you can see 'm shinin' in his lovely brown eyes--but he can't get 'em across to me.

Why, I see 'm tryin' to tell me sometimes so hard that he almost busts.

There's a big hole between him an' me, an' language is about the only bridge, and he can't get over the hole, though he's got all kinds of ideas an' feelings just like mine.
"But, say! The time we get closest together is when I play the harmonica an' he yow-yows.