FW 419.19-27

    —Greek! Hand it to me! Shaun replied, plosively pointing to the cinnamon quistoquill behind his acoustrolobe. I’m as after- dusk nobly Roman as pope and water could christen me. Look at that for a ridingpin! I am, thing … [Leer más...]

FW 419.16-19

The blarneyest blather in all Corneywall! But could you, of course, decent Lettrechaun, we knew (to change your name of not your nation) while still in the barrel, read the strangewrote anaglyptics of those shemletters patent for His Christian’s … [Leer más...]

FW 418.32-419.02

    Ere those gidflirts now gadding you quit your mocks for my gropes An extense must impull, an elapse must elopes, Of my tectucs takestock, tinktact, and ail’s weal; As I view by your farlook hale yourself to my heal. Partiprise my … [Leer más...]