She can’t remember half of the cradlenames she smacked on them by the grace of her boxing bishop’s infallible slipper, the cane for Kund and abbles for Eyolf and ayther nayther for Yakov Yea. Tinker, tilar, souldrer, salor, Pieman Peace or Polistaman. Push up and push vardar and come to uphill headquarters! ) used to rustle that time down by the dykes of killing Kildare, for forstfellfoss with a plash across her. Linking one and knocking the next, tapting a flank and tipting a jutty and palling in and pietaring out and clyding by on her eastway. Someone he was, whuebra they were, in a tactic attack or in single combat. She was just a young thin pale soft shy slim slip of a thing then, sauntering, by silvamoonlake and he was a heavy trudging lurching lieabroad of a Curraghman, making his hay for whose sun to shine on, as tough as the oaktrees (peats be with them! But it’s quite on the cards she’ll shed more and merrier, twills and trills, sparefours and spoilfives, nord-sihkes and sudsevers and ayes and neins to a litter. Then a toss nare scared that lass, so aimai moe, that’s agapo!
And didn’t she up in sorgues and go and trot doon and stand in her douro, puffing her old dudheen, and every shirvant siligirl or wensum farmerette walking the pilend roads, Sawy, Fundally, Daery or Maery, Milucre, Awny or Graw, usedn’t she make her a simp or sign to slip inside by the sullyport?
) and legging a jig or so on the sihl to show them how to shake their benders and the dainty how to bring to mind the gladdest garments out of sight and all the way of a maid with a man and making a sort of a cackling noise like two and a penny or half a crown and holding up a silliver shiner. To inny captured wench you wish of no matter what sex of pleissful ways two adda tammar a lizzy a lossie to hug and hab haven in Humpy’s apron!
Who blocksmitt her saft anvil or yelled lep to her pail? Flowey and Mount on the brink of time makes wishes and fears for a happy isthmass. I heard he dug good tin with his doll, delvan first and duvlin after, when he raped her home, Sabrine asthore, in a parakeet’s cage, by dredgerous lands and devious delts, playing catched and mythed with the gleam of her shadda, (if a flic had been there to pop up and pepper him! Not a grasshoop to ring her, not an antsgrain of ore.
Was his help inshored in the Stork and Pelican against bungelars, flu and third risk par-ties? Tune your pipes and fall ahumming, you born ijypt, and you’re no-thing short of one! When they saw him shoot swift up her sheba sheath, like any gay lord salomon, her bulls they were ruhring, surfed with spree.
Do you know she was calling bakvandets sals from all around, nyumba noo, chamba choo, to go in till him, her erring cheef, and tickle the pontiff aisy-oisy?
O, tell me all I want to hear, how loft she was lift a laddery dextro! Letting on she didn’t care, sina feza, me absantee, him man in passession, the proxenete! He erned his lille Bunbath hard, our staly bred, the trader. Don’t you know he was kaldt a bairn of the brine, Wasserbourne the waterbaby? Fidaris will find where the Doubt arises like Nieman from Nirgends found the Nihil. Some say she had three figures to fill and confined herself to a hundred eleven, wan by-wan bywan, making meanacuminamoyas. Was it waterlows year, after Grattan or Flood, or when maids were in Arc or when three stood hosting? She thought she’s sankh neathe the ground with nymphant shame when he gave her the tigris eye! Only for my short Brittas bed made’s as snug as it smells it’s out I’d lep and off with me to the slobs deua Tolka or the plage au Clontarf to feale the gay aire of my salt troublin bay and the race of the saywint up me ambushure.