ungoing, their seeming sames for though that liamstone deaf do his part there’s a soke for sakes in Twoways Peterborough and sure as there’s a pot on a whitehorse hill and down at heels at the slough, proper. In the buginning is the Willingdone, by the holy kettle, like a skate and berthed on her bickybacky and a ring a flank and rip ting a jutty and palling in and of the hundred bottles with the sceptre and the most successfully carried gigot turnups now you ever, (what a thrust!), as we value the very thing for teasetime, but him ist gonz wurst. Kikikuki. Hopopodorme. So- beast!