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that erestationed. He was culping for penance while you were
ringing his belle. Did the kickee, goodman rued fox, say anything
important? Clam or cram, spick or spat?
          No more than Richman's periwhelker. 
          Nnn ttt wrd? 
          Dmn ttt thg. 
          A gael galled by scheme of scorn? Nock? 
          Sangnifying nothing. Mock! 
          Fortitudo eius rhodammum tenuit? 
          Five maim! Or something very similar. 
          I should like to euphonise that. It sounds an isochronism. 
Secret speech Hazelton and obviously disemvowelled. But it is
good laylaw too. We may take those wellmeant kicks for free
granted, though ultra vires, void and, in fact, unnecessarily so.
Happily you were not quite so successful in the process verbal
whereby you would sublimate your blepharospasmockical sup-
pressions, it seems?
          What was that? First I heard about it. 
          Were you or were you not? Ask yourself the answer, I'm 
not giving you a short question. Now, not to mix up, cast your
eyes around Capel Court. I want you, witness of this epic struggle,
as yours so mine, to reconstruct for us, as briefly as you can, in-
exactly the same as a mind's eye view, how these funeral games,
which have been poring over us through homer's kerryer pid-
geons, massacreedoed as the holiname rally round took place.
          Which? Sure I told you that afoul. I was drunk all lost life. 
          Well, tell it to me befair, the whole plan of campaign, in 
that bamboozelem mincethrill voice of yours. Let's have it,
christie! The Dublin own, the thrice familiar.
          Ah, sure, I eyewitless foggus. 'Tis all around me bebatters- 
bid hat.
          Ah, go on now, Masta Bones, a gig for a gag, with your 
impendements and your perroqtriques! Blank memory of hatless
darky in blued suit. You were ever the gentle poet, dove from
Haywarden. Pitcher cup, patcher cap, pratey man? Be nice about
it, Bones Minor! Look chairful! Come, delicacy!  Go to the end,