| the freckled forehead. While you'd parse secheressa she hielt her | 1 |
| souff'. But she ruz two feet hire in her aisne aestumation. And | 2 |
| steppes on stilts ever since. That was kissuahealing with bantur | 3 |
| for balm! O, wasn't he the bold priest? And wasn't she the | 4 |
| naughty Livvy? Nautic Naama's now her navn. Two lads in | 5 |
| scoutsch breeches went through her before that, Barefoot Burn | 6 |
| and Wallowme Wade, Lugnaquillia's noblesse pickts, before she | 7 |
| had a hint of a hair at her fanny to hide or a bossom to tempt a | 8 |
| birch canoedler not to mention a bulgic porterhouse barge. And | 9 |
| ere that again, leada, laida, all unraidy, too faint to buoy the | 10 |
| fairiest rider, too frail to flirt with a cygnet's plume, she was licked | 11 |
| by a hound, Chirripa-Chirruta, while poing her pee, pure and | 12 |
| simple, on the spur of the hill in old Kippure, in birdsong and | 13 |
| shearingtime, but first of all, worst of all, the wiggly livvly, she | 14 |
| sideslipped out by a gap in the Devil's glen while Sally her nurse | 15 |
| was sound asleep in a sloot and, feefee fiefie, fell over a spillway | 16 |
| before she found her stride and lay and wriggled in all the stag- | 17 |
| nant black pools of rainy under a fallow coo and she laughed | 18 |
| innocefree with her limbs aloft and a whole drove of maiden | 19 |
| hawthorns blushing and looking askance upon her. | 20 |
| Drop me the sound of the findhorn's name, Mtu or Mti, som- | 21 |
| bogger was wisness. And drip me why in the flenders was she | 22 |
| frickled. And trickle me through was she marcellewaved or was | 23 |
| it weirdly a wig she wore. And whitside did they droop their | 24 |
| glows in their florry, aback to wist or affront to sea? In fear to | 25 |
| hear the dear so near or longing loth and loathing longing? Are | 26 |
| you in the swim or are you out? O go in, go on, go an! I mean | 27 |
| about what you know. I know right well what you mean. Rother! | 28 |
| You'd like the coifs and guimpes, snouty, and me to do the | 29 |
| greasy jub on old Veronica's wipers. What am I rancing now | 30 |
| and I'll thank you? Is it a pinny or is it a surplice? Arran, where's | 31 |
| your nose? And where's the starch? That's not the vesdre bene- | 32 |
| diction smell. I can tell from here by their eau de Colo and the | 33 |
| scent of her oder they're Mrs Magrath's. And you ought to have | 34 |
| aird them. They've moist come off her. Creases in silk they | 35 |
| are, not crampton lawn. Baptiste me, father, for she has sinned! | 36 |