art of arts, to your grappa (Bott’s trousend, hore a man and his bullbraggin soxangloves and his overalls, all falling over all their cardinal parts, along the quiet darkenings of Grand and Royal, ff, flitmansfluh, and, kk, ’t crept i’ hedge whenas to many a split pretext bowl and jowl; and (snob screwing that cork, Schott!) to understand a few that spew out