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Illustration.	quam taughtropes. (Spry him! call a blood
	lekar! Where's Dr Brassenaarse?) Es war itwas
	in his priesterrite. O He Must Suffer! From this
	misbelieving feacemaker to his noncredible
	fancyflame. 1 Ask for bosthoon, late for Mass,
	pray for blaablaablack sheep. (Sure you could
	wright anny pippap passage, Eye bet, as foyne
	as that moultylousy Erewhig, yerself, mick!
	Nock the muddy nickers! 2 Christ's Church
	varses Bellial!) Dear and he went on to scripple
Ascription of the	gentlemine born, milady bread, he would pen
Active.	for her, he would pine for her, 3 how he would
	patpun fun for all 4 with his frolicky frowner
	so and his glumsome grinner otherso. And how
	are you, waggy? 5 My animal his sorrafool!
	And trieste, ah trieste ate I my liver! Se non é
	vero son trovatore. O jerry! He was soso, harriot
	all! He was sadfellow, steifel! He was mister-
	mysterion. Like a purate out of pensionee with
	a gouvernament job. All moanday, tearsday,
	wailsday, thumpsday, frightday, shatterday till
	the fear of the Law. Look at this twitches!
	He was quisquis, floored on his plankraft of
	shittim wood. Look at him! Sink deep or
Proscription of	touch not the Cartesian spring! Want more
the Passive.	ashes, griper? How diesmal he was lying low
	on his rawside laying siege to goblin castle.
	And, bezouts that, how hyenesmeal he was
	laying him long on his laughside lying sack
	to croakpartridge. (Be thou wars Rolaf's intes-
1 And she had to seek a pond's apeace to salve her suiterkins. Sued!
2 Excuse theyre christianbrothers irish?
3 When she tripped against the briery bush he profused her allover with
curtsey flowers.
4 A nastilow disigraible game.
5 Dear old Erosmas. Very glad you are going to Penmark. Write to the
corner. Grunny Grant.