Difference between revisions of "Page 252"

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  you can't believe a word he's written in, not for pie, but one's
 
  you can't believe a word he's written in, not for pie, but one's
 
  only owned by [[naturel rejection]]. [[Charley, you're my darwing]]!
 
  only owned by [[naturel rejection]]. [[Charley, you're my darwing]]!
  So sing they sequent the assent of man. Till they go round if
+
  So sing they sequent the [[assent of man]]. Till they go round if
 
  they go roundagain before breakparts and all dismissed. They
 
  they go roundagain before breakparts and all dismissed. They
 
  keep. Step keep. Step. Stop. Who is Fleur? Where is Ange? Or
 
  keep. Step keep. Step. Stop. Who is Fleur? Where is Ange? Or

Latest revision as of 09:25, 5 August 2009

TOC

Page 251 Page 253

queering his shoolthers. So was I. And as I was cleansing my
fausties. So was he. And as way ware puffiing our blowbags.
Souwouyou.
    Come, thrust! Go, parry! Dvoinabrathran, dare. The mad 
long ramp of manchind's parlements, the learned lacklearning,
merciless as wonderful.
         Now may Saint Mowy of the Pleasant Grin be your ever- 
glass and even prospect!
         Feeling dank. 
    Exchange, reverse. 
         And may Saint Jerome of the Harlots' Curse make family 
three of you which is much abedder!
         Grassy ass ago. 
    And each was wrought with his other. And his continence fell. 
The bivitellines, Metellus and Ametallikos, her crown pretenders,
obscindgemeinded biekerers, varying directly, uruseye each oxes-
other, superfetated (never cleaner of lamps frowned fiercelier on
anointer of hinges), while their treegrown girls, king's game, if
he deign so, are in such transfusion just to know twigst timidy
twomeys, for gracious sake, who is artthoudux from whose
heterotropic, the sleepy or the glouch, for, shyly bawn and
showly nursured,exceedingly nice girls can strike exceedingly
bad times unless so richtly chosen's by (what though of riches
he have none and hope dashes hope on his heart's horizon) to gar
their great moments greater. The thing is he must be put strait
on the spot, no mere waterstichystuff in a selfmade world that
you can't believe a word he's written in, not for pie, but one's
only owned by naturel rejection. Charley, you're my darwing!
So sing they sequent the assent of man. Till they go round if
they go roundagain before breakparts and all dismissed. They
keep. Step keep. Step. Stop. Who is Fleur? Where is Ange? Or
Gardoun?
    Creedless, croonless hangs his haughty. There end no moe red 
devil in the white of his eye. Braglodyte him do a katadupe! A con-
damn quondam jontom sick af a suckbut! He does not know how
his grandson's grandson's grandson's grandson will stammer up