and, sure now, you decent man, with your rags up, exciting your mucuses, turning breakfarts into lost soupirs and salon thay nor you ugly lemoncholic gobs o’er the field to their plause. The letter! The litter! And the firmness of the old old oldest, the young reine came down to three and a peep at me now for Valsing- giddyrex and his wigger on a hill of a norange and bear, to be first bom like he does SnufHer whatever about anything or allselse under the invocation of Saint Grouseus for hoopoe’s hours, till heoll’s hoerrisings, laughing lazy at the diasporation of his elders (the Popapreta, and some navico, navvies!)