Page 468

From FinnegansWiki
Revision as of 21:26, 11 February 2018 by Levon ayanabudbuda (talk | contribs)
(diff) ← Older revision | Latest revision (diff) | Newer revision → (diff)
Jump to navigationJump to search

TOC

Page 467 Page 469

my hostilious by going in by the most holy recitatandas ffff for
my varsatile examinations in the ologies, to be a coach on the
Fukien mission. P? F? How used you learn me, brather
soboostius, in my augustan days? With cesarella looking on.
In the beginning was the gest he jousstly says, for the end is
with woman, flesh-without-word, while the man to be is in a
worse case after than before since she on the supine satisfies
the verg to him! Toughtough, tootoological. Thou the first
person shingeller. Art, an imperfect subjunctive. Paltry,
flappent, had serious. Miss Smith onamatterpoetic. Hammis-
andivis axes colles waxes warmas like sodullas. So pick your
stops with fondnes snow. And mind you twine the twos
noods of your nicenames. And pull up your furbelovs as far-
above as you're farthingales. That'll hint him how to click the
trigger. Show you shall and won't he will! His hearing is in-
doubting just as my seeing is onbelieving. So dactylise him up
to blankpoint and let him blink for himself where you speak the
best ticklish. You'll feel what I mean. Fond namer, let me never
see thee blame a kiss for shame a knee!
    Echo, read ending! Siparioramoci! But from the stress of 
their sunder enlivening, ay clasp, deciduously, a nikrokosmikon
must come to mike.
         Well, my positively last at any stage! I hate to look at alarms 
but,however they put on my watchcraft,must now close as I
hereby hear by ear from by seeless socks 'tis time to be up and
ambling. Mymiddle toe's mitching, so mizzle I must else 'twill
sarve me out. Gulp a bulper at parting and the moore the
melodest! Farewell but whenever, as Tisdall told Toole.
Tempos fidgets. Let flee me fiacckles, says the grand old mano-
ark, stormcrested crowcock and undulant hair, hoodies tway!
Yes, faith, I am as mew let freer, beneath me corthage, bound.
I'm as bored now bawling beersgrace at sorepaws there as Andrew
Clays was sharing sawdust with Daniel's old collie. This shack's
not big enough for me now. I'm dreaming of ye, azores. And, re-
member this, a chorines, there's the witch on the heath, sistra!
'Bansheeba peeling hourihaared while her Orcotron is hoaring