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| − | + | seen your missus in the hall. Like the queenoveire. Arrah, it's | |
| − | + | herself that's fine, too, don't be talking! Shirksends? You storyan | |
| − | + | Harry chap longa me Harry chap storyan grass woman plelthy | |
| − | + | good trout. Shakeshands. Dibble a hayfork's wrong with her only | |
| − | + | her lex's salig. Boald Tib does be yawning and smirking cat's | |
| − | + | hours on the Pollockses' woolly round tabouretcushion watch- | |
| − | + | ing her sewing a dream together, the tailor's daughter, stitch to | |
| − | + | her last. Or while waiting for winter to fire the enchantement, | |
| − | + | decoying more nesters to fall down the flue. It's allavalonche that | |
| − | + | blows nopussy food. If you only were there to explain the mean- | |
| − | + | ing, best of men, and talk to her nice of guldenselver. The lips | |
| − | + | would moisten once again. As when you drove with her to Fin- | |
| − | + | drinny Fair. What with reins here and ribbons there all your | |
| − | + | hands were employed so she never knew was she on land or at | |
| − | + | sea or swooped through the blue like Airwinger's bride. She | |
| − | + | was flirtsome then and she's fluttersome yet. She can second a | |
| − | + | song and adores a scandal when the last post's gone by. Fond of | |
| − | + | a concertina and pairs passing when she's had her forty winks | |
| − | + | for supper after kanekannan and abbely dimpling and is in her | |
| − | + | merlin chair assotted, reading her Evening World. To see is | |
| − | + | it smarts, full lengths or swaggers. News, news, all the news. | |
| − | + | Death, a leopard, kills fellah in Fez. Angry scenes at Stormount. | |
| − | + | Stilla Star with her lucky in goingaways. Opportunity fair with | |
| − | + | the China floods and we hear these rosy rumours. Ding Tams he | |
| − | + | noise about all same Harry chap. She's seeking her way, a chickle | |
| − | + | a chuckle, in and out of their serial story, Les Loves of Selskar | |
| − | + | et Pervenche, freely adapted to The Novvergin's Viv. There'll | |
| − | + | be bluebells blowing in salty sepulchres the night she signs her | |
| − | + | final tear. Zee End. But that's a world of ways away. Till track | |
| + | laws time. No silver ash or switches for that one! While flattering | ||
| + | candles flare. Anna Stacey's how are you! Worther waist in the | ||
| + | noblest, says Adams and Sons, the wouldpay actionneers. Her | ||
| + | hair's as brown as ever it was. And wivvy and wavy. Repose you | ||
| + | now! Finn no more! | ||
| + | For, be that samesake sibsubstitute of a hooky salmon, there's | ||
| + | already a big rody ram lad at random on the premises of his | ||
Текущая версия на 14:39, 11 января 2013
seen your missus in the hall. Like the queenoveire. Arrah, it's herself that's fine, too, don't be talking! Shirksends? You storyan Harry chap longa me Harry chap storyan grass woman plelthy good trout. Shakeshands. Dibble a hayfork's wrong with her only her lex's salig. Boald Tib does be yawning and smirking cat's hours on the Pollockses' woolly round tabouretcushion watch- ing her sewing a dream together, the tailor's daughter, stitch to her last. Or while waiting for winter to fire the enchantement, decoying more nesters to fall down the flue. It's allavalonche that blows nopussy food. If you only were there to explain the mean- ing, best of men, and talk to her nice of guldenselver. The lips would moisten once again. As when you drove with her to Fin- drinny Fair. What with reins here and ribbons there all your hands were employed so she never knew was she on land or at sea or swooped through the blue like Airwinger's bride. She was flirtsome then and she's fluttersome yet. She can second a song and adores a scandal when the last post's gone by. Fond of a concertina and pairs passing when she's had her forty winks for supper after kanekannan and abbely dimpling and is in her merlin chair assotted, reading her Evening World. To see is it smarts, full lengths or swaggers. News, news, all the news. Death, a leopard, kills fellah in Fez. Angry scenes at Stormount. Stilla Star with her lucky in goingaways. Opportunity fair with the China floods and we hear these rosy rumours. Ding Tams he noise about all same Harry chap. She's seeking her way, a chickle a chuckle, in and out of their serial story, Les Loves of Selskar et Pervenche, freely adapted to The Novvergin's Viv. There'll be bluebells blowing in salty sepulchres the night she signs her final tear. Zee End. But that's a world of ways away. Till track laws time. No silver ash or switches for that one! While flattering candles flare. Anna Stacey's how are you! Worther waist in the noblest, says Adams and Sons, the wouldpay actionneers. Her hair's as brown as ever it was. And wivvy and wavy. Repose you now! Finn no more!
For, be that samesake sibsubstitute of a hooky salmon, there's
already a big rody ram lad at random on the premises of his
