Page 144

From FinnegansWiki
Revision as of 22:25, 20 January 2020 by Levon ayanabudbuda (talk | contribs)
(diff) ← Older revision | Latest revision (diff) | Newer revision → (diff)
Jump to navigationJump to search

TOC

Page 143 Page 145

to make them look so rosetop glowstop nostop. I know her.
Slight me, would she? For every got I care! Three creamings a
day, the first during her shower and wipe off with tissue. Then
after cleanup and of course before retiring. Beme shawl, when I
think of that espos of a Clancarbry, the foodbrawler, of the socia-
tionist party with hiss blackleaded chest, hello, Prendregast!
that you, Innkipper, and all his fourteen other fullback maulers
or hurling stars or whatever the dagos they are, baiting at my
Lord Ornery's, just becups they won the egg and spoon there
so ovally provencial at Balldole. My Eilish assent he seed makes
his admiracion. He is seeking an opening and means to be first
with me as his belle alliance. Andoo musnoo play zeloso! Soso
do todas. Such is Spanish. Stoop alittle closer, fealse! Delight-
some simply! Like Jolio and Romeune. I haven't fell so turkish
for ages and ages! Mine's me of squisious, the chocolate with
a soul. Extraordinary! Why, what are they all, the mucky lot
of them only? Sht! I wouldn't pay three hairpins for them. Peppt!
That's rights, hold it steady! Leg me pull. Pu! Come big to Iran.
Poo! What are you nudging for? No, I just thought you were.
Listen, loviest! Of course it was too kind of you, miser, to re-
member my sighs in shockings, my often expressed wish when
you were wandering about my trousseaurs and before I forget it
don't forget, in your extensions to my personality, when knotting
my remembrancetie, shoeweek will be trotting back with red
heels at the end of the moon but look what the fool bought
cabbage head and, as I shall answer to gracious heaven, I'll
always in always remind of snappy new girters, me being always
the one for charms with my very best in proud and gloving
even if he was to be vermillion miles my youth to live on,
the rubberend Mr Polkingtone, the quonian fleshmonger who
Mother Browne solicited me for unlawful converse with, with
her mug of October (a pots on it!), creaking around on his old
shanksaxle like a crosty old cornquake. Airman, waterwag, terrier,
blazer! I'm fine, thanks ever! Ha! O mind you poo tickly. Sall I
puhim in momou. Mummum. Funny spot to have a fingey! I'm
terribly sorry, I swear to you I am! May you never see me in my