Difference between revisions of "Page 392"
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he was taying and toying, to hold the nursetendered hand, (ah, | he was taying and toying, to hold the nursetendered hand, (ah, | ||
the poor old coax!) and count the buttons and her hand and | the poor old coax!) and count the buttons and her hand and | ||
− | frown on a bad crab and doying to remembore what doed they | + | frown on a bad crab and doying to [[remembored|remembore]] what doed they |
were byorn and who made a who a snore. Ah dearo dearo | were byorn and who made a who a snore. Ah dearo dearo | ||
dear! | dear! | ||
− | And where do you leave Matt Emeritus? The laychief of Ab- | + | And where do you leave [[Matt Emeritus]]? The laychief of Ab- |
botabishop? And exchullard of ffrench and gherman. Achoch! | botabishop? And exchullard of ffrench and gherman. Achoch! | ||
They were all so sorgy for poorboir Matt in his saltwater hat, | They were all so sorgy for poorboir Matt in his saltwater hat, | ||
with the Aran crown, or she grew that out of, too big for him, of | with the Aran crown, or she grew that out of, too big for him, of | ||
− | or Mnepos and his overalls, all falling over her in folds<STRIKE> | + | or [[Mnepos]] and his overalls, all falling over her in folds<STRIKE> </STRIKE>sure he |
− | hadn't the heart in her to pull them up<STRIKE> | + | hadn't the heart in her to pull them up<STRIKE> </STRIKE>poor Matt, the old peri- |
grime matriarch, and a queenly man, (the porple blussing upon | grime matriarch, and a queenly man, (the porple blussing upon | ||
them!) sitting there, the sole of the settlement, below ground, | them!) sitting there, the sole of the settlement, below ground, | ||
for an expiatory rite, in postulation of his cause, (who shall say?) | for an expiatory rite, in postulation of his cause, (who shall say?) | ||
in her beaver bonnet, the king of the Caucuses, a family all to | in her beaver bonnet, the king of the Caucuses, a family all to | ||
− | himself, under geasa, Themistletocles, on his multilingual tomb- | + | himself, under geasa, [[Themistletocles]], on his multilingual tomb- |
stone, like Navellicky Kamen, and she due to kid by sweetpea | stone, like Navellicky Kamen, and she due to kid by sweetpea | ||
time, with her face to the wall, in view of the poorhouse, and | time, with her face to the wall, in view of the poorhouse, and | ||
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Ah ho! It was too bad entirely! All devoured by active parlour- | Ah ho! It was too bad entirely! All devoured by active parlour- | ||
men, laudabiliter, of woman squelch and all on account of the | men, laudabiliter, of woman squelch and all on account of the | ||
− |
Latest revision as of 05:36, 15 April 2020
were faults on both sides) well, he attempted (or so they say) ah, now, forget and forgive (don't we all?) and, sure, he was only funning with his andrewmartins and his old age coming over him, well, he attempted or, the Connachy, he was tempted to attempt some hunnish familiarities, after eten a bad carmp in the rude ocean and, hevantonoze sure, he was dead seasickabed (it was really too bad!) her poor old divorced male, in the housepays for the daying at the Martyr Mrs MacCawley's, where at the time he was taying and toying, to hold the nursetendered hand, (ah, the poor old coax!) and count the buttons and her hand and frown on a bad crab and doying to remembore what doed they were byorn and who made a who a snore. Ah dearo dearo dear! And where do you leave Matt Emeritus? The laychief of Ab- botabishop? And exchullard of ffrench and gherman. Achoch! They were all so sorgy for poorboir Matt in his saltwater hat, with the Aran crown, or she grew that out of, too big for him, of or Mnepos and his overalls, all falling over her in foldssure he hadn't the heart in her to pull them uppoor Matt, the old peri- grime matriarch, and a queenly man, (the porple blussing upon them!) sitting there, the sole of the settlement, below ground, for an expiatory rite, in postulation of his cause, (who shall say?) in her beaver bonnet, the king of the Caucuses, a family all to himself, under geasa, Themistletocles, on his multilingual tomb- stone, like Navellicky Kamen, and she due to kid by sweetpea time, with her face to the wall, in view of the poorhouse, and taking his rust in the oxsight of Iren, under all the auspices, amid the rattle of hailstorms, kalospintheochromatokreening, with her ivyclad hood, and gripping an old pair of curling tongs, belong- ing to Mrs Duna O'Cannell, to blow his brains with, till the heights of Newhigherland heard the Bristolhut, with his can of tea and a purse of alfred cakes from Anne Lynch and two cuts of Shackleton's brown loaf and dilisk, waiting for the end to come. Gordon Heighland, when you think of it! The merthe dirther! Ah ho! It was too bad entirely! All devoured by active parlour- men, laudabiliter, of woman squelch and all on account of the