| whisping? Is it not divinely deluscious? But in't it bafforyou? | 1 |
| Misi misi! Tell me till my thrillme comes! I will not break the | 2 |
| seal. I am enjoying it still, I swear I am! Why do you prefer its | 3 |
| in these dark nets, if why may ask, my sweetykins? Sh sh! Long- | 4 |
| ears is flying. No, sweetissest, why would that ennoy me? But | 5 |
| don't! You want to be slap well slapped for that. Your delighted | 6 |
| lips, love, be careful! Mind my duvetyne dress above all! It's | 7 |
| golded silvy, the newest sextones with princess effect. For Rut- | 8 |
| land blue's got out of passion. So, so, my precious! O, I can see | 9 |
| the cost, chare! Don't tell me! Why, the boy in sheeps' lane | 10 |
| knows that. If I sell whose, dears? Was I sold here' tears? You | 11 |
| mean those conversation lozenges? How awful! The bold shame | 12 |
| of me! I wouldn't, chickens, not for all the juliettes in the twinkly | 13 |
| way! I could snap them when I see them winking at me in bed. | 14 |
| I didn't did so, my intended, or was going to or thinking of. | 15 |
| Shshsh! Don't start like that, you wretch! I thought ye knew all | 16 |
| and more, ye aucthor, to explique to ones the significat of their | 17 |
| exsystems with your nieu nivulon lead. It's only another queer | 18 |
| fish or other in Brinbrou's damned old trouchorous river again, | 19 |
| Gothewishegoths bless us and spare her! And gibos rest from the | 20 |
| bosso! Excuse me for swearing, love, I swear to the sorrasims on | 21 |
| their trons of Uian I didn't mean to by this alpin armlet! Did you | 22 |
| really never in all our cantalang lives speak clothse to a girl's | 23 |
| before? No! Not even to the charmermaid? How marfellows! | 24 |
| Of course I believe you, my own dear doting liest, when you | 25 |
| tell me. As I'd live to, O, I'd love to! Liss, liss! I muss whiss! | 26 |
| Never that ever or I can remember dearstreaming faces, you may | 27 |
| go through me! Never in all my whole white life of my match- | 28 |
| less and pair. Or ever for bitter be the frucht of this hour! With | 29 |
| my whiteness I thee woo and bind my silk breasths I thee bound! | 30 |
| Always, Amory, amor andmore! Till always, thou lovest! | 31 |
| Shshshsh! So long as the lucksmith. Laughs! | 32 |
| 11. If you met on the binge a poor acheseyeld from Ailing, | 33 |
| when the tune of his tremble shook shimmy on shin, while his | 34 |
| countrary raged in the weak of his wailing, like a rugilant pugi- | 35 |
| lant Lyon O'Lynn; if he maundered in misliness, plaining his | 36 |