With no further expectation than to see the smile of a mile of black turtles all tuttled together on the rocks by the side of the sea, Abigail found the strength to look between her fear-clenched fingers.

No stranger to the throes of wild blue yonders, Abigail asked her grandfather if he knew of anyone else with such a disposition. Grandfather said not in the position you are in concerning the length of the tuttle of black turtles ascribing sense to the senseless mess of the sea. Abigail said but what would you do. Grandfather smiled a vagus smile and thought about his days in the land of the tuttles of black turtles and wondered whatever happened to that black-haired girl he knew who could pet the black tuttle of turtles in between herding the lions who played on the beach at sunset–in her dreams no less. Grandfather said all you can do is smile and while away the day in the comfort of the sun.

Abigail went out to play in the rain near the tuttle of black turtles by the sea, and she dreamed how they knew what the lions would do when the sun came out in a day or two.