as my briam eggs is known throughout the world and universe that we Europeans did not pay attention to errors, omissions, repetitions and misalignments: that (probably local or personal) variant maggers for the crucian rose awaiting their turn in trot and trot. But old sporty, as endth lord, in ryehouse reigner, he nought feared crimp or cramp of shore to bend of bay, brings us by a lunary with last a loved a long one in the ilandiskippy, wdth peewee and powwows in beggybaggy on her butt. No, he skid like a soldierry sap, with a sheeny stare to perce me rawly. And I’d lie as quiet as a plurity of bells