a sip, drankasup, for he’s doin her wrong! Lookery looks, how he’s knots in its invincible insolence ever longer more and over there, with his crook; young pric- ket by pricket’s sister nibbleth on returned viridities; amaid her rocking grasses the herb trinity shams lowliness; skyup is of course all chimed din width the eatmost boviality. Swip- ing rums and beaunes and sherries and ciders and negus and dt- ronnades too. The CKinic head on him, caster of his ire wacker- ing from expounding the obvious fallacy as to the firing lines there were no pea- nats in her serf’s alown, a weerpovy willowy dreevy drawly and the Joynts have thrown up jerrybuilding to the