BOOK: | I | II | III | IV |
|49 | 50 |51 |

of undiscernibles where the Baxters and the Fleshmans may1
they cease to bidivil uns and (but at this poingt though the iron2
thrust of his cockspurt start might have prepared us we are well-3
nigh stinkpotthered by the mustardpunge in the tailend) this4
outandin brown candlestock melt Nolan's into peese! Han var.5
Disliken as he was to druriodrama, her wife Langley, the prophet,6
and the decentest dozendest short of a frusker whoever stuck his7
spickle through his spoke, disappeared, (in which toodooing he8
has taken all the French leaves unveilable out of Calomne-9
quiller's Pravities) from the sourface of this earth, that austral10
plain he had transmaried himself to, so entirely spoorlessly (the11
mother of the book with a dustwhisk tabularasing his obliteration12
done upon her involucrum) as to tickle the speculative to all but13
opine (since the Levey who might have been Langley may have14
really been a redivivus of paganinism or a volunteer Vousden)15
that the hobo (who possessed a large amount of the humoresque)16
had transtuled his funster's latitat to its finsterest interrimost. Bhi17
she. Again, if Father San Browne, tea and toaster to that quaint-18
esttest of yarnspinners is Padre Don Bruno, treu and troster to19
the queen of Iar-Spain, was the reverend, the sodality director,20
that eupeptic viceflayer, a barefaced carmelite, to whose palpi-21
tating pulpit (which of us but remembers the rarevalent and22
hornerable Fratomistor Nawlanmore and Brawne.) sinning society23
sirens (see the [Roman Catholic] presspassim) fortunately became24
so enthusiastically attached and was an objectionable ass who very25
occasionally cockaded a raffles ticket on his hat which he wore all26
to one side like the hangle of his pan (if Her Elegance saw him27
she'd have the canary!) and was semiprivately convicted of mal-28
practices with his hotwashed tableknife (glossing over the cark29
in his pocket) that same snob of the dunhill, fully several year-30
schaums riper, encountered by the General on that redletter31
morning or maynoon jovesday and were they? Fuitfuit.32
    When Phishlin Phil wants throws his lip 'tis pholly to be fortune 33
flonting and whoever's gone to mix Hotel by the salt say water34
there's nix to nothing we can do for he's never again to sea. It35
is nebuless an autodidact fact of the commonest that the shape of36