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they're raised on bruised stone root ginger though it winters on
their heads as if auctumned round their waistbands. If you'd had
pains in your hairs you wouldn't look so orgibald. You'd have
Colley Macaires on your lump of lead. Now listen, Mr Leer!
And stow that sweatyfunnyadams Simper! Take an old geeser
who calls on his skirt. Note his sleek hair, so elegant, tableau
vivant. He vows her to be his own honeylamb, swears they will
be papa pals, by Sam, and share good times way down west in a
guaranteed happy lovenest when May moon she shines and they
twit twinkle all the night, combing the comet's tail up right and
shooting popguns at the stars. Creampuffs all to dime! Every
nice, missymackenzies! For dear old grumpapar, he's gone on
the razzledar, through gazing and crazing and blazing at the stars.
Compree! She wants her wardrobe to hear from above by return
with cash so as she can buy her Peter Robinson trousseau and cut
a dash with Arty, Bert or possibly Charley Chance (who knows?)
so tolloll Mr Hunker you're too dada for me to dance (so off she
goes !) and that's how half the gels in town has got their bottom
drars while grumpapar he's trying to hitch his braces on to his
trars. But old grum he's not so clean dippy between sweet you
and yum (not on your life, boy! not in those trousers! not by a
large jugful!) for someplace on the sly,where Furphy he isn't by,
old grum has his gel number two (bravevow, our Grum!) and he
would like to canoodle her too some part of the time for he is
downright fond of his number one but O he's fair mashed on
peaches number two so that if he could only canoodle the two,
chivee chivoo, all three would feel genuinely happy, it's as simple
as A. B. C., the two mixers, we mean, with their cherrybum
chappy (for he is simply shamming dippy) if they all were afloat
in a dreamlifeboat, hugging two by two in his zoo-doo-you-doo,
a tofftoff for thee, missymissy for me and howcameyou-e'enso for
Farber, in his tippy, upindown dippy, tiptoptippy canoodle, can
you? Finny.
    Ack, ack, ack. With which clap, trap and soddenment, three to 
a loaf, our mutual friends the fender and the bottle at the gate seem
to be implicitly in the same bateau, so to singen, bearing also