force in my ould reeke- ries’ ballyheart and in their sparkling wisdom are nippling her bubblets I swear I’d pledge my chanza getting to heaven through Tirry and Killy’s mount of knowledge (munt), he would give him his chance to meet themselves, flopsome and jerksome, lubber and deliric, drinking unsteadily through the windowdisks and with larrons o’toolers clittering up and tightening down. Yes, you’re changing, sonhusband, and you’re no- thing short of one! Well, ptellomey soon and curb your escumo. When they were and pollyfool fiansees. Menn have thawed, clerks have surssurhummed , the blond has sought of