Difference between revisions of "Page 95"
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am and nunguam and lunguam again, their [[anschluss]] about her | am and nunguam and lunguam again, their [[anschluss]] about her | ||
whosebefore and his whereafters and how she was lost away | whosebefore and his whereafters and how she was lost away | ||
| − | away in the fern and how he was founded deap on deep in anear, | + | away in the [[fern]] and how he was founded deap on deep in anear, |
and the rustlings and the twitterings and the raspings and the | and the rustlings and the twitterings and the raspings and the | ||
snappings and the sighings and the paintings and the ukukuings | snappings and the sighings and the paintings and the ukukuings | ||
Revision as of 04:48, 28 July 2009
he caught his paper dispillsation from the poke, old Minace and
Minster York? Do I mind? I mind the gush off the mon like Bal-
lybock manure works on a tradewinds day. And the O'Moyly
gracies and the O'Briny rossies chaffing him bluchface and play-
ing him pranks. How do you do, todo, North Mister? Get into
my way! Ah dearome forsailoshe! Gone over the bays! When
ginabawdy meadabawdy! Yerra, why would he heed that old
gasometer with his hooping coppin and his dyinboosycough and
all the birds of the southside after her, Minxy Cunningham, their
dear divorcee darling, jimmies and jonnies to be her jo? Hold
hard. There's three other corners to our isle's cork float. Sure, 'tis
well I can telesmell him H2CE3 that would take a township's
breath away! Gob and I nose him too well as I do meself, heav-
ing up the Kay Wall by the 32 to 11 with his limelooking horse-
bags full of sesameseed, the Whiteside Kaffir, and his sayman's
effluvium and his scentpainted voice, puffing out his thundering
big brown cabbage! Pa! Thawt I'm glad a gull for his pawsdeen
fiunn! Goborro, sez he, Lankyshied! Gobugga ye, sez I! O
breezes! I sniffed that lad long before anyone. It was when I was
in my farfather out at the west and she and myself, the redheaded
girl, firstnighting down Sycomore Lane. Fine feelplay we had
of it mid the kissabetts frisking in the kool kurkle dusk of the
lushiness. My perfume of the pampas, says she (meaning me)
putting out her netherlights, and I'd sooner one precious sip at
your pure mountain dew than enrich my acquaintance with that
big brewer's belch.
And so they went on, the fourbottle men, the analists, ungu-
am and nunguam and lunguam again, their anschluss about her
whosebefore and his whereafters and how she was lost away
away in the fern and how he was founded deap on deep in anear,
and the rustlings and the twitterings and the raspings and the
snappings and the sighings and the paintings and the ukukuings
and the (hist!) the springapartings and the (hast!) the bybyscutt-
lings and all the scandalmunkers and the pure craigs that used to
be (up) that time living and lying and rating and riding round
Nunsbelly Square. And all the buds in the bush. And the laugh-
