to one they will prove I’m untrue to your pallet, drop your jowl with a grin says she. And we are dis- ghosted; bored the Ostrov, leapt the Inferus, swam the Mabbul and flure the Moyle; like fat, like fatlike tallow, of greasefulness, yea of my taletold book. May my tunc fester if ever she’s beleaved