Difference between revisions of "Page 172"

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  mer desh to tren, into Patatapapaveri's, fruiterers and musical
 
  mer desh to tren, into Patatapapaveri's, fruiterers and musical
 
  florists, with his <I>Ciaho, chavi! Sar shin, shillipen?</I> she knew the
 
  florists, with his <I>Ciaho, chavi! Sar shin, shillipen?</I> she knew the
  vice out of bridewell was a bad fast man by his walk on the
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  vice out of [[bridewell]] was a bad fast man by his walk on the
 
  spot.
 
  spot.
 
       [Johns is a different butcher's. Next place you are up town pay
 
       [Johns is a different butcher's. Next place you are up town pay

Revision as of 12:40, 21 August 2012

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Page 171 Page 173

mer desh to tren, into Patatapapaveri's, fruiterers and musical
florists, with his Ciaho, chavi! Sar shin, shillipen? she knew the
vice out of bridewell was a bad fast man by his walk on the
spot.
     [Johns is a different butcher's. Next place you are up town pay
him a visit. Or better still, come tobuy. You will enjoy cattlemen's
spring meat. Johns is now quite divorced from baking. Fattens,
kills, flays, hangs, draws, quarters and pieces. Feel his lambs ! Ex !
Feel how sheap! Exex! His liver too is great value, a spatiality!
Exexex! COMMUNICATED.] 
     Around that time, moravar, one generally, for luvvomony
hoped or at any rate suspected among morticians that he would
early turn out badly, develop hereditary pulmonary T.B., and
do for himself one dandy time, nay, of a pelting night blanketed
creditors, hearing a coarse song and splash off Eden Quay sighed
and rolled over, sure all was up, but, though he fell heavily and
locally into debit, not even then could such an antinomian be
true to type. He would not put fire to his cerebrum; he would
not throw himself in Liffey; he would not explaud himself with
pneumantics; he refused to saffrocake himself with a sod. With
the foreign devil's leave the fraid born fraud diddled even death.
Anzi, cabled (but shaking the worth out of his maulth: Guarda-
costa leporello? Szasas Kraicz!) from his Nearapoblican asylum
to his jonathan for a brother: Here tokay, gone tomory, we're
spluched, do something, Fireless. And had answer: Inconvenient,
David.
     You see, chaps, it will trickle out, freaksily of course, but the
tom and the shorty of it is: he was in his bardic memory low.
All the time he kept on treasuring with condign satisfaction each
and every crumb of trektalk, covetous of his neighbour's word,
and if ever, during a Munda conversazione commoted in the
nation's interest, delicate tippits were thrown out to him touch-
ing his evil courses by some wellwishers, vainly pleading by
scriptural arguments with the opprobrious papist about trying
to brace up for the kidos of the thing, Scally wag, and be a men
instead of a dem scrounger, dish it all, such as: Pray, what is