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land him yet, slitheryscales on liffeybank, times and times and
halve a time with a pillow of sand to polster him.	
    — Do you say they will? 	
    — I bet you they will. 
    — Among the shivering sedges so? Weedy waving. 
    — Or tulipbeds of Rush below. 
    — Where you take your mugs to wash after dark? 
    — To my lead, Toomey lout, Tommy lad. 
    — Besides the bubblye waters of, babblyebubblye waters of? 
    — Right. 	
    — Grenadiers. And tell me now. Were these anglers or angel- 
ers coexistent and compresent with or without their tertium quid?
    — Three in one, one and three. 
Shem and Shaun and the shame that sunders em.
Wisdom's son, folly's brother.
    — God bless your ginger, wigglewaggle! That's three slots 
and no burners. You're forgetting the jinnyjos for the fayboys.	
What, Walker John Referent? Play us your patmost! And un-
packyoulloups!	
    — Naif Cruachan! Woe on woe, says Wardeb Daly. Woman 
will water the wild world over. And the maid of the folley will go
where glory. Sure I thought it was larking in the trefoll of the furry
glans with two stripping baremaids, Stilla Underwood and Moth
MacGarry, he was, hand to dagger, that time and their mother, a
rawkneepudsfrowse, I was given to understand, with superflow-
vius heirs, begum. There was that one that was always mad gone
on him, her first king of cloves and the most broadcussed man
in Corrack-on-Sharon, County Rosecarmon. Sure she was nea	
drowned in pondest coldstreams of admiration forherself, as bad
as my Tarpeyan cousin, Vesta Tully, making faces at her bach	

spilled likeness in the brook after and cooling herself in the

element, she pleasing it, she praising it, with salices and weidow-
wehls, all tossed, as she was, the playactrix, Lough Shieling's love!
    — O, add shielsome bridelittle! All of her own! Nircississies 
are as the doaters of inversion. Secilas through their laughing	
classes becoming poolermates in laker life.