"I read them before my imprisonment, so thoroughly that the works of Thû-Cydide, Xenarwène, Gandault, Pengolot, Camille le Sage, Sharksburz the barbarian not devoid of genius, Moriadoc, Findégile, Sauron, le steuard Jensen, Michel Martineau, and of course all the other classics, are graven in my memory. Naturally I had acquired all the principal languages before imprisonment, and I use my palantir to study Lower High Mordorois even now."
"Show me the wonders you have made, I beg you!" cried Gamgès.
The abbé Frodia removed from under his bed a slightly soggy, but functional palantir; a small crystal phial that glittered when Frodia moved it, and rays of white light sprang from his hand; and a large book with a red leather cover. "I manufactured the cover from my shoes and the red dye from my blood," he explained modestly.
"You are wondrously wise and learned," said Samouard. "Perhaps you can answer a question that has vexed me for a long time. Try as hard as I might, I cannot comprehend how I came to be here. I would discover what mortal has inflicted this suffering upon me, that I might not curse Érou for it."
"Tell me your story, that my intellect may masticate upon the facts and produce therefrom a truth as veritable as the indecencies of the mirror of Galadriella," replied the abbé.
