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if have faded from the fleur,1  their arms

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enlocked, (ringrang, the chimes of sex appeal-

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ing as conchitas with sentas stray,2  rung!), all

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thinking all of it, the It with an itch in it, the All

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every inch of it, the pleasure each will preen her

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for, the business each was bred to breed by.3

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 ; ; Soon jemmijohns will cudgel about some

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a rhythmatick or other over Browne and

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Nolan's divisional tables whereas she, of


  
minions' novence charily being cupid, for

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mug's wumping, grooser's grubbiness, andt's

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avarice and grossopper's grandegaffe, with her

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tootpettypout of jemenfichue will sit and knit

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on solfa sofa.4  Stew of the evening, booksyful

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stew. And a bodikin a boss in the Thimble

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Theatre. But all is her-inbourne. Intend. From

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gramma's grammar she has it that if there is a

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third person, mascarine, phelinine or nuder,

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being spoken abad it moods prosodes from a

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person speaking to her second which is the

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direct object that has been spoken to, with and

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at. Take the dative with his oblative5 for, even

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if obsolete, it is always of interest, so spake

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gramma on the impetus of her imperative, only

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mind your genderous towards his reflexives

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such that I was to your grappa (Bott's trousend,

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hore a man uff!) when him was me hedon6

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and mine, what the lewdy saying, his analec-

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tual pygmyhop.7  There is comfortism in the

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 One must sell it to some one, the sacred name of love. 
 Making it up as we goes along. 
 The law of the jungerl. 
 Let me blush to think of all those halfwayhoist pullovers.  
 I'd like his pink's cheek. 
 Frech devil in red hairing!  So that's why you ran away to sea, Mrs 
Lappy.  Leap me, Locklaun, for you have sensed! 
 A washable lovable floatable doll.