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grains of incense anguille bronze. And after that she wove a gar-
land for her hair. She pleated it. She plaited it. Of meadowgrass
and riverflags, the bulrush and waterweed, and of fallen griefs of
weeping willow. Then she made her bracelets and her anklets
and her armlets and a jetty amulet for necklace of clicking cobbles
and pattering pebbles and rumbledown rubble, richmond and
rehr, of Irish rhunerhinerstones and shellmarble bangles. That
done, a dawk of smut to her airy ey, Annushka Lutetiavitch
Pufflovah, and the lellipos cream to her lippeleens and the pick
of the paintbox for her pommettes, from strawbirry reds to
extra violates, and she sendred her boudeloire maids to His
Affluence, Ciliegia Grande and Kirschie Real, the two chirsines,
with respecks from his missus, seepy and sewery, and a request
might she passe of him for a minnikin. A call to pay and light a
taper, in Brie-on-Arrosa, back in a sprizzling. The cock striking
mine, the stalls bridely sign, there's Zambosy waiting for Me!
She said she wouldn't be half her length away. Then, then, as
soon as the lump his back was turned, with her mealiebag slang
over her shulder, Anna Livia, oysterface, forth of her bassein
came.
    Describe her! Hustle along, why can't you? Spitz on the iern 
while it's hot. I wouldn't miss her for irthing on nerthe. Not for
the lucre of lomba strait. Oceans of Gaud, I mosel hear that!
Ogowe presta! Leste, before Julia sees her! Ishekarry and washe-
meskad, the carishy caratimaney? Whole lady fair? Duodecimo-
roon? Bon a ventura? Malagassy? What had she on, the liddel oud
oddity? How much did she scallop, harness and weights? Here
she is, Amnisty Ann! Call her calamity electrifies man.
    No electress at all but old Moppa Necessity, angin mother of 
injons. I'll tell you a test. But you must sit still. Will you hold
your peace and listen well to what I am going to say now? It
might have been ten or twenty to one of the night of Allclose or
the nexth of April when the flip of her hoogly igloo flappered and
out toetippit a bushman woman, the dearest little moma ever
you saw, nodding around her, all smiles, with ems of embarras
and aues to awe, between two ages, a judyqueen, not up to your