Page 249
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Jump to navigationJump to searchprawn while I go squirt with any cockle. When here who adolls
me infuxes sleep. But if this could see with its backsight he'd
be the grand old greeneyed lobster. He's my first viewmarc since
Valentine. Wink's the winning word.
Luck!
In the house of breathings lies that word, all fairness. The walls
are of rubinen and the glittergates of elfinbone. The roof herof is
of massicious jasper and a canopy of Tyrian awning rises and
still descends to it. A grape cluster of lights hangs therebeneath
and all the house is filled with the breathings of her fairness, the
fairness of fondance and the fairness of milk and rhubarb and the
fairness of roasted meats and uniomargrits and the fairness of
promise with consonantia and avowals. There lies her word, you
reder! The height herup exalts it and the lowness her down aba-
seth it. It vibroverberates upon the tegmen and prosplodes from
pomoeria. A window, a hedge, a prong, a hand, an eye, a sign, a
head and keep your other augur on her paypaypay. And you have
it, old Sem, pat as ah be seated! And Sunny, my gander, he's
coming to land her. The boy which she now adores. She dores.
Oh backed von dem zug! Make weg for their tug!
With a ring ding dong, they raise clasped hands and advance
more steps to retire to the saum. Curtsey one, curtsey two, with
arms akimbo, devotees.
Irrelevance.
All sing:
I rose up one maypole morning and saw in my glass how
nobody loves me but you. Ugh. Ugh.
All point in the shem direction as if to shun.
My name is Misha Misha but call me Toffey Tough. I
mean Mettenchough. It was her, boy the boy that was loft in the
larch. Ogh! Ogh!
Her reverence.
All laugh.
They pretend to helf while they simply shauted at him sauce to
make hims prich. And ith ith noth cricquette, Sally Lums. Not
by ever such a lot. Twentynines of bloomers gegging een man
