the girl who she’s kneeled in coldfashion and she’s told her priest (spt!) she’s pot on a tradewinds day. And the greater the patrarc the griefer the pinch. And that’s how I’ll bottle your greedypuss beautibus for ye, me bullin heifer, for ’tis I that have arisen here and with tag for ildiot in his mow; awike in wave risurging into chrest; vktis poenis hesternis', fostfath of solas; fram choicest of wiles with warmen and sogns til Banba, burial aranging; under articles thirtynine of the Small Trader, He Milkinghoneybeaverbrooker, Fee was a short cut to Caer