BOOK: | I | II | III | IV |
|278 | 279 |280 |

                        and the face in the treebark feigns afear. This MODES COA- 1
is rainstones ringing. Strangely cult for this LESCING 2
ceasing of the yore. But Erigureen is ever. PROLIFER- 3
Pot price pon patrilinear plop, if the osseletion ATE HOMO- 4
of the onkring gives omen nome? Since alls GENUINE 5
war that end war let sports be leisure and HOMOGEN- 6
bring and buy fair. Ah ah athclete, blest your EITY. 7
bally bathfeet! Towntoquest, fortorest, the 8
hour that hies is hurley. A halt for hearsake. 1 9
            1 Come, smooth of my slate, to the beat of my blosh! With all these gelded
    ewes jilting about and the thrills and ills of laylock blossoms three's so much
    more plants than chants for cecilies that I was thinking fairly killing times of
    putting an end to myself and my malody, when I remembered all your pupil-
    teacher's erringnesses in perfection class. You sh'undn't write you can't if you
    w'udn't pass for undevelopmented. This is the propper way to say that, Sr. If
    it's me chews to swallow all you saidn't you can eat my words for it as sure as
    there's a key in my kiss. Quick erit faciofacey. When we will conjugate to-
    gether toloseher tomaster tomiss while morrow fans amare hour, verbe de vie
    and verve to vie, with love ay loved have I on my back spine and does for
    ever. Your are me severe? Then rue. My intended, Jr, who I'm throne away
    on, (here he inst, my lifstack, a newfolly likon) when I slip through my pettigo
    I'll get my decree and take seidens when I'm not ploughed first by some
    Rolando the Lasso, and flaunt on the flimsyfilmsies for to grig my collage
    juniorees who, though they flush fuchsia, are they octette and virginity in my
    shade but always my figurants. They may be yea of my year but they're nary
    nay of my day. Wait till spring has sprung in spickness and prigs beg in to pry
    they'll be plentyprime of housepets to pimp and pamper my. Impending mar-
    riage. Nature tells everybody about but I learned all the runes of the gamest
    game ever from my old nourse Asa. A most adventuring trot is her and she
    vicking well knowed them all heartswise and fourwords. How Olive d'Oyly
    and Winnie Carr, bejupers, they reized the dressing of a salandmon and how a
    peeper coster and a salt sailor med a mustied poet atwaimen. It most have
    bean Mad Mullans planted him. Bina de Bisse and Trestrine von Terrefin.
    Sago sound, rite go round, kill kackle, kook kettle and (remember all should
    I forget to) bolt the thor. Auden. Wasn't it just divining that dog of a dag
    in Skokholme as I sat astrid uppum their Drewitt's altar, as cooledas as cul-
    cumbre, slapping my straights till the sloping ruins, postillion, postallion, a
    swinge a swank, with you offering me clouts of illscents and them horners
    stagstruck on the leasward! Don't be of red, you blanching mench! This
    isabella I'm on knows the ruelles of the rut and she don't fear andy mandy. So
    sing loud, sweet cheeriot, like anegreon in heaven! The good fother with the
    twingling in his eye will always have cakes in his pocket to bethroat us with
    for our allmichael good. Amum. Amum. And Amum again. For tough troth
    is stronger than fortuitous fiction and it's the surplice money, oh my young
    friend and ah me sweet creature, what buys the bed while wits borrows the
    clothes.