Sentence The Sevenhundredandtwentysecond

And just as Rilla Balquhidder entered Little Levy's bedroom on the 8th day of May, in the Year of Our Lord 2017, a puzzled look on her face at what had sounded, over the crackly baby-monitor as "Fuck Earth," so on the 9th day of May, in the Year of Our Lord 2037, Columbine sat in a garden, listening to the Police Radio which was regularly intercepted, and made a note of the names: George Brown, that would be Young Dod, Robert Ruggles, known as Owd Boab, Alexander Armitage, otherwise Wee Eck, Francis Abernethy, or Fat Frank, and let's not forget Norman Noggs, still known to his friends as Noggin: these were the discoverers of The Secret of The Cairn, the manuscript which had long been believed lost, probably destroyed, but in fact preserved in a mysterious chamber within The Cairn atop Mid Hill, highest of the three (or four) Eildons – depending on whether or not one
counted tiny Hare Law; and when the phone trilled it was with the message: 'is that you columbine?' as if it could be anything other! and Columbine looked through the dense atmosphere that separated the garden from Little Levy's house – a hundred yards and twenty years, compressed into causal sets, space time atoms – and fancied that the sound of the lanuginous baby's sleeping breath, at times almost silent, at others like the rumble of an anuran, was carried through that inconsequential separation, a runnel in time, holus-bolus, from there to here, hither and yon, scattering like the beam of light shone through a prism and refracted into a million-million splinters; but Columbine was able to wait, was used to waiting, had been created perhaps for that single purpose, to wait with bated breath for the one sign, the one true sign, the ultimate alignment of Heaven and Earth! and the only thought at that moment, this moment, the moment of conjunction, was the voice of Little Levy just moments before, or right now or in the far distant future, saying "Fuck Earth!" and the reverberations rumbled through the dense, dewy, distance which was no distance and pinged something in Columbine, who waited on.