Difference between revisions of "Page 424"
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Your puddin is cooked! You're served, cram ye! Fatefully | Your puddin is cooked! You're served, cram ye! Fatefully | ||
yaourth . . . Ex. Ex. Ex. Ex. | yaourth . . . Ex. Ex. Ex. Ex. | ||
| − | + | — But for what, thrice truthful teller, Shaun of grace? weakly | |
we went on to ask now of the gracious one. Vouchsafe to say. | we went on to ask now of the gracious one. Vouchsafe to say. | ||
You will now, goodness, won't you? Why? | You will now, goodness, won't you? Why? | ||
| − | + | — For his root language, if you ask me whys, Shaun replied, | |
as he blessed himself devotionally like a crawsbomb, making act | as he blessed himself devotionally like a crawsbomb, making act | ||
of oblivion, footinmouther! (what the thickuns else?) which he | of oblivion, footinmouther! (what the thickuns else?) which he | ||
| − | picksticked into his lettruce invrention. Ullhodturdenweirmud- | + | picksticked into his lettruce invrention. [[Ullhodturdenweirmudgaardgringnirurdrmolnirfenrirlukkilokkibaugimandodrrerinsurtkrinmgernrackinarockar|Ullhodturdenweirmud-]] |
| − | gaardgringnirurdrmolnirfenrirlukkilokkibaugimandodrrerin- | + | [[Ullhodturdenweirmudgaardgringnirurdrmolnirfenrirlukkilokkibaugimandodrrerinsurtkrinmgernrackinarockar|gaardgringnirurdrmolnirfenrirlukkilokkibaugimandodrrerin-]] |
| − | surtkrinmgernrackinarockar! Thor's for yo! | + | [[Ullhodturdenweirmudgaardgringnirurdrmolnirfenrirlukkilokkibaugimandodrrerinsurtkrinmgernrackinarockar|surtkrinmgernrackinarockar]]! Thor's for yo! |
| − | + | — The hundredlettered name again, last word of perfect lan- | |
guage. But you could come near it, we do suppose, strong Shaun | guage. But you could come near it, we do suppose, strong Shaun | ||
O', we foresupposed. How? | O', we foresupposed. How? | ||
| − | + | — Peax! Peax! Shaun replied in vealar penultimatum. 'Tis | |
pebils before Sweeney's as he swigged a slug of Jon Jacobsen | pebils before Sweeney's as he swigged a slug of Jon Jacobsen | ||
from his treestem sucker cane. Mildbut likesome! I might as | from his treestem sucker cane. Mildbut likesome! I might as | ||
| Line 39: | Line 39: | ||
Thaw! The last word in stolentelling! And what's more right- | Thaw! The last word in stolentelling! And what's more right- | ||
down lowbrown schisthematic robblemint! Yes. As he was rising | down lowbrown schisthematic robblemint! Yes. As he was rising | ||
| − | |||
Revision as of 04:41, 28 March 2006
and Bruda Pszths and Brat Slavos. One temp when he foiled to
be killed, the freak wanted to put his bilingual head intentionally
through the Ikish Tames and go and join the clericy as a demoni-
can skyterrier. Throwing dust in the eyes of the Hooley Fer-
mers! He used to be avowdeed as he ought to be vitandist. For
onced I squeaked by twyst I'll squelch him. Then he went to
Cecilia's treat on his solo to pick up Galen. Asbestopoulos! Inku-
pot! He has encaust in the blood. Shim! I have the outmost con-
tempt for. Prost bitten! Conshy! Tiberia is waiting on you,
arestocrank! Chaka a seagull ticket at Gattabuia and Gabbiano's!
Go o'er the sea, haythen, from me and leave your libber to TCD.
Your puddin is cooked! You're served, cram ye! Fatefully
yaourth . . . Ex. Ex. Ex. Ex.
— But for what, thrice truthful teller, Shaun of grace? weakly
we went on to ask now of the gracious one. Vouchsafe to say.
You will now, goodness, won't you? Why?
— For his root language, if you ask me whys, Shaun replied,
as he blessed himself devotionally like a crawsbomb, making act
of oblivion, footinmouther! (what the thickuns else?) which he
picksticked into his lettruce invrention. Ullhodturdenweirmud-
gaardgringnirurdrmolnirfenrirlukkilokkibaugimandodrrerin-
surtkrinmgernrackinarockar! Thor's for yo!
— The hundredlettered name again, last word of perfect lan-
guage. But you could come near it, we do suppose, strong Shaun
O', we foresupposed. How?
— Peax! Peax! Shaun replied in vealar penultimatum. 'Tis
pebils before Sweeney's as he swigged a slug of Jon Jacobsen
from his treestem sucker cane. Mildbut likesome! I might as
well be talking to the four waves till tibbes grey eves and the
rests asleep. Frost! Nope! No one in his seven senses could as
I have before said, only you missed my drift, for it's being in-
cendiary. Every dimmed letter in it is a copy and not a few of the
silbils and wholly words I can show you in my Kingdom of
Heaven. The lowquacity of him! With his threestar monothong!
Thaw! The last word in stolentelling! And what's more right-
down lowbrown schisthematic robblemint! Yes. As he was rising
