Thursday, 8 November 2018 (510.2)

The last reading stopped at: “lach” (511.13)


Some favourites were:

The tail, so mastrodantic, as you tell it nearly takes your own mummouth’s breath away. (510.3–4)

With a hoh frohim and heh fraher. But, as regards to Tammy Thornycraft, Idefyne the lawn mare and the laney moweress and all the prentisses of wildes to massage him. (510.9–12)

Every old skin in the leather world, infect the whole stock company of the old house of the Leaking Barrel, was thomistically drunk, two by two (510.16–18)

while I and Flood and the other men, jazzlike brollies and sesuos, was gickling his missus to gackles in the hall, the divileen, (she’s a lamp in her throth) with her cygncygn leckle and her twelve pound lach. (511.10-13)

With thanks to A.