The Ondt, that true and perfect host, a spiter aspinne, was
making the greatest spass a body could with his queens lace-
swinging for he was spizzing all over him like thingsumanything
in formicolation, boundlessly blissfilled in an allallahbath of
houris. He was ameising himself hugely at crabround and mary-
pose, chasing Floh out of charity and tickling Luse, I hope too,
and tackling Bienie, faith, as well, and jucking Vespatilla jukely
by the chimiche. Never did Dorsan from Dunshanagan dance it
with more devilry! The veripatetic imago of the impossible
Gracehoper on his odderkop in the myre, after his thrice ephe-
meral journeeys, sans mantis ne shooshooe, featherweighed
animule, actually and presumptuably sinctifying chronic's de-
spair, was sufficiently and probably coocoo much for his chorous
of gravitates. Let him be Artalone the Weeps with his parisites
peeling off him I'll be Highfee the Crackasider. Flunkey Footle
furloughed foul, writing off his phoney, but Conte Carme makes
the melody that mints the money. Ad majorem l.s.d.! Divi gloriam.
A darkener of the threshold. Haru? Orimis, capsizer of his ant-
boat, sekketh rede from Evil-it-is, lord of loaves in Amongded.
Be it! So be it! Thou-who-thou-art, the fleet-as-spindhrift,
impfang thee of mine wideheight. Haru!