At twilight in the summer […] the mice come out. They […] eat the luncheon crumbs. Mr. Checkly, for instance, always brought his dinner in a paper parcel in his coat-tail pocket, and ate it when so disposed, sprinkling crumbs lavishly […] on the floor.

Magmata, um. The dregs of ointment, waſh-balls.

At the tournament level I dabble But my tiles show a meaningless babble I filled up my ranks With a few extra blanks And got busted for cheating at Scrabble

Arabic reads right to left.