While|1, one word burunreading another,1|
|1standfast standfest|a, towelturbaneda|1| and flower
|1in her wrap around,1| face full of flesh and fat as hen's in
forehead, |1|xAiry Ann & Blue Bart,x|
|xroyal pair in the house of the 100 bottlesx|1| discusst the past |1the angerache of their
loveº & the hungerbrood it bore them1| |1the fairs at home & expurge
trade1| and walking progress hinks linkafuss foremost |1the shellroad path from
dayfall to the shrilling of the crowcrested,1| scribbledehoys scribbledehobbles are bent on their
pensums.º Trifid tongue, others woo will and work for, and dove without gall, the backslapping gladhander |1his singing likeness1| and she whose mind's a
jilldaw's nest, who tears up letters she never put pen upon when bother her hair's in a queer of a mood. As if that three could solve a twohornheaded dulcarnon that stumped Alex among anders and drove him to pulfer turnips. And, my hat, what a worldall of weariness is theirs waiting to hear
their proper mistakes! For how many guldens would one post now to the pillar? For one hundred? For one hundred's thousand? And to what will't all serve them in an after reeraw life? |1If a gas consumer |ahabituated to marble mantelsa| buys a dozen of apples every first Friday during a whole leap year at the weight of seven sesterces per pound overthepoise|a, taking abbaco as ·7,a| |x& letting born of bulrushes stand for any Wx| |ahow many what grand total ofa| sentinels |xin reindeer peltsx| |x& aided by a span of oxenx| |afed on Trinidad's shellcocoaa| |xin sheets & sheets of rainx| will it take to paper a trench fifteen yards longer than |abreadth a cobbler's bulka| is broad?1| Will it make of one a good milker the having been brought up on superlatives? Or will he go away in a peajacket live rough and just not be silly? |1or not care toppings for the birthrate and lean loungingly on his lentils?1| Or where will he find funds to smoke a whole box of matches diurnally? Or if she |1|ain dimitya|1| makes an earth of heaven will she lilt that Barney take her home again? For so long as shes |1in dimity1| read serials in a bummeltrain with a lot of uninteresting |1duck1| trousers hanging around it is as wholly probable as a
holy parable that the worst at least at last may happen, such as go to meet Mary, miss Mamy and mary Meg. Why ask her or Tossy Madden sense from anything that shred since every annual has its own aroma? Quid vobis videtur? Even remembering of a tree is too beautiful for her|1, spellbound,1| to listen.
Small blame be hers therefore if she shook her shoe off at geography |1class giggle1| doing rivers of India with a whisper of wilfulness heard round the giddying globe!
|1Bewise of Fanciulla's heart, the heart of Fanciulla. And her hand that's as gloveless as a peer's in the presence
and how both will be ready maid marrying when Jollicomes matching home.1|
|1|aThough her loinstones be jade & her moon increscenta| She |amay willa| swoon over Shelly to get a crush on the coalman or learn from Dalcroze how to drop her umbrella but her true line |aas the little grey nuns will show her without fuss or muss either for today is thine but whose tomorrowa| is to beg 2 makes for a wing but when there's no more tay for sugar the cosey and she's looked her last of lonesomeness for that divinity showshapes their ends backview them how we will.1|