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umbr. And stand up tall! Straight. I want to see you looking fine
for me. With your brandnew big green belt and all. Blooming in
the very lotust and second to nill, Budd! When you're in the
buckly shuit Rosensharonals near did for you. Fiftyseven and
three, cosh, with the bulge. Proudpurse Alby with his pooraroon
Eireen, they'll. Pride, comfytousness, enevy! You make me think
of a wonderdecker I once. Or somebalt thet sailder, the man me-
gallant, with the bangled ears. Or an earl was he, at Lucan? Or,
no, it's the Iren duke's I mean. Or somebrey erse from the Dark
Countries. Come and let us! We always said we'd. And go abroad.
Rathgreany way perhaps. The childher are still fast. There is no
school today. Them boys is so contrairy. The Head does be
worrying himself. Heel trouble and heal travel. Galliver and
Gellover. Unless they changes by mistake. I seen the likes in
the twinngling of an aye. Som. So oft. Sim. Time after time.
The sehm asnuh. Two bredder as doffered as nors in soun. When
one of him sighs or one of him cries 'tis you all over. No peace
at all. Maybe it's those two old crony aunts held them out to the
water front. Queer Mrs Quickenough and odd Miss Dodd-
pebble. And when them two has had a good few there isn't much
more dirty clothes to publish. From the Laundersdale Minssions.
One chap googling the holyboy's thingabib and this lad wetting
his widdle. You were pleased as Punch, recitating war exploits
and pearse orations to them jackeen gapers. But that night after,
all you were wanton! Bidding me do this and that and the other.
And blowing off to me, hugly Judsys, what wouldn't you give
to have a girl! Your wish was mewill. And, lo, out of a sky! The
way I too. But her, you wait. Eager to choose is left to her shade.
If she had only more matcher's wit. Findlings makes runaways,
runaways a stray. She's as merry as the gricks still. 'Twould be
sore should ledden sorrow. I'll wait. And I'll wait. And then if
all goes. What will be is. Is is. But let them. Slops hospodch and
the slusky slut too. He's for thee what she's for me. Dogging you
round cove and haven and teaching me the perts of speech. If you
spun your yarns to him on the swishbarque waves I was spelling
my yearns to her over cottage cake. We'll not disturb their sleep-