BOOK: | I | II | III | IV |
|157 | 158 |159 |

to bride with Tristis Tristior Tristissimus. But, sweet madonine,1
she might fair as well have carried her daisy's worth to Florida.2
For the Mookse, a dogmad Accanite, were not amoosed and the3
Gripes, a dubliboused Catalick, wis pinefully obliviscent.4
    I see, she sighed. There are menner. 5
    The siss of the whisp of the sigh of the softzing at the stir of 6
the ver grose O arundo of a long one in midias reeds: and shades7
began to glidder along the banks, greepsing, greepsing, duusk8
unto duusk, and it was as glooming as gloaming could be in the9
waste of all peacable worlds. Metamnisia was allsoonome coloro-10
form brune; citherior spiane an eaulande, innemorous and un-11
numerose. The Mookse had a sound eyes right but he could not12
all hear. The Gripes had light ears left yet he could but ill see.13
He ceased. And he ceased, tung and trit, and it was neversoever14
so dusk of both of them. But still Moo thought on the deeps of15
the undths he would profoundth come the morrokse and still16
Gri feeled of the scripes he would escipe if by grice he had luck17
    Oh, how it was duusk! From Vallee Maraia to Grasyaplaina, 19
dormimust echo! Ah dew! Ah dew! It was so duusk that the20
tears of night began to fall, first by ones and twos, then by threes21
and fours, at last by fives and sixes of sevens, for the tired ones22
were wecking, as we weep now with them. O! O! O! Par la23
    Then there came down to the thither bank a woman of no 25
appearance (I believe she was a Black with chills at her feet) and26
she gathered up his hoariness the Mookse motamourfully where27
he was spread and carried him away to her invisible dwelling,28
thats hights, Aquila Rapax, for he was the holy sacred solem and29
poshup spit of her boshop's apron. So you see the Mookse he30
had reason as I knew and you knew and he knew all along. And31
there came down to the hither bank a woman to all important32
(though they say that she was comely, spite the cold in her heed)33
and, for he was as like it as blow it to a hawker's hank, she34
plucked down the Gripes, torn panicky autotone, in angeu from35
his limb and cariad away its beotitubes with her to her unseen36