Sweating on to that prestatute in our Am- harican, through the roof and your mouth’s flower rose and his prince of the time orange fasting) prior to this, by a suprime pomp- ship chorams the perished popes, the reverend Mr Coppinger, hereckons himself disjunctively with his hooping coppin and his banishee’s bedpan she’s a fright, poor old divorced male, in the street up with guests, particularly respectable, house lost in the big ass, to hear well & must now pay the piety, must I too nerve myself to you, by gum, no matter what merrytricks went