return of the neo classical graeco romanesque eructations

"How's Hieronymous?"
The words were those of Ireland's greatest living poet, addressed to his mother in the kitchen of the old chateau while a gentle June evening filled up the universe.
"He's gone," replied the Mammy.
The noble Heelers gaped.
"He's gone," sez I barely believing it. "After I did the healing touch?"
Allow me to explain bold travellers of the internet.
Hieronymous was a little wart like protuberance that had arrived on the aged parent's neck a week ago.
On Monday Doctor Barn had spotted it and began threatening to laser it off. This focussed the Lilt's mind somewhat. In a moment of weakness she permitted me to do the healing touch.
As many of you are aware, she has not formerly placed a lot of faith in my, er, faith healing abilities.
But when there's lasers on the horizon she sees things in a whole new perspective.
Anyhoo.
"It's gone," sez the Mammy. "I noticed it was gone this morning. I wonder what happened."
"Liller," quoth I in mild bemusement. "Are you saying that after Marcus and Hieronymous you still don't believe?"
"Well," sez she speculatively, "I had been putting sudocreme on it as well."
And somewhere not too far away, the ghost of Tuco from The Good The Bad And The Ugly went "Aieeaiieeaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah."