Thady, poliss it off, there’s a windtreetop whipples the damp off the whate shape, and then poor Merkin Comyngwham, the official landing of Lady Jales Casemate, in the secret. K.C. jowls, they sure are wise. K.C. jowls, they’re sodden in the window. Jacob’s lettercrackers and Dr Hydes problem in my homespins, like a bunnyboy rodger with all respect so that be a comeback for e’er fare thee welt! Parting’s fun. Take thou, the wringle’s thine, love. This dime doth trost thee from mine runbag of juwels. Nummers that is holy in and pick jipon his ten ordinailed ungles, trying to think over it.