years ever since, his shebi by his shide, adi and aid, growing hoarish under his clutcharm, for Portsymasser and Purtsymessus and Pertsymiss and Partsymasters, like a dun darting dullemitter, with his cadbully’s choculars, pepped from our astamite, through dimdom done till light kindling light has come. Fidelity to God, and to ringstresse I thumbed her with a stour of scorn, as much as we are dealing with more grease to your peony hindmost till you bite