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In the morning twilight, during that slow transition from sleeping dream-state to waking conscious-state, submerged bubbles of words still trapped in the Lethe of my subconcious rise and pop to the surface of my fore-mind (like nitrogen from the blood of a diver, too quickly and I get the bends). Words that I didn't know that I knew. Words like fiat. Or inchoate. Or plimsoll. Or The Peaceable Kingdom. This morning the word was pulegone. Yup. I said Pulegone. Say it again: Pulegone.