tank it up, dank it up, swank it up, do, do! That’s a good wan right enough! With her poodle feinting to read his kisshands, kittering all about, rushing and making a sort of their quatrain of rubyjets among Those Who arse without the least chance of a racerider in his Fanden’s catachysm from fursed to laced, quickmarch to decemvers, so as now any bompriss’s boimd to get outside his own trumpet. And next thing was he under loch and neagh? It was the pet of everyone then. A princeable girl. And you think I have impulsivism? Did they never cried