BOOK: | I | II | III | IV |
|602 | 603 |604 |

he'd lust in Wooming but with that smeoil like a grace of backon-1
ing over his egglips of the sunsoonshine. Here's heering you in2
a guessmasque, latterman! And such an improofment! As royt3
as the mail and as fat as a fuddle! Schoen! Shoan! Shoon the4
Puzt! A penny for your thought abouts! Tay, tibby, tanny,5
tummy, tasty, tosty, tay. Batch is for Baker who baxters our6
bread. O, what an ovenly odour! Butter butter! Bring us this7
days our maily bag! But receive me, my frensheets, from the8
emerald dark winterlong! For diss is the doss for Eilder Downes9
and dass is it duss, as singen sengers, what the hardworking10
straightwalking stoutstamping securelysealing officials who trow11
to form our G.M.P.'s pass muster generally shay for shee and12
sloo for slee when butting their headd to the pillow for a night-13
shared nakeshift with the alter girl they tuck in for sweepsake.14
Dutiful wealker for his hydes of march. Haves you the time.15
Hans ahike? Heard you the crime, senny boy? The man was16
giddy on letties on the dewry of the duary, be pursueded,17
whethered with entrenous, midgreys, dagos, teatimes, shadows,18
nocturnes or samoans, if wellstocked fillerouters plushfeverfraus19
with dopy chonks, and this, that and the other pigskin or muffle20
kinkles, taking a pipe course or doing an anguish, seen to his21
fleece in after his foull, when Dr Chart of Greet Chorsles street22
he changed his backbone at a citting. He had not the declaina-23
tion, as what with the foos as whet with the fays, but so far as24
hanging a goobes on the precedings, wherethen the lag allows, it25
mights be anything after darks. Which the deers alones they sees26
and the darkies they is snuffing of the wind up. Debbling.27
Greanteavvents! Hyacinssies with heliotrollops! Not once28
fullvixen freakings and but dubbledecoys! It is a lable iction on29
the porte of the cuthulic church and summum most atole for it.30
Where is that blinketey blanketer, that quound of a pealer, the31
sunt of a hunt whant foxes good men! Where or he, our loved32
among many?33
    But what does Coemghem, the fostard? Tyro a tora. The 34
novened iconostase of his blueygreyned vitroils but begins35
in feint to light his legend. Let Phosphoron proclaim! Peechy36