A vampire got her around the neck from behind; then more, dogpiling her.

And there a Seaſon atween June and May, Half prankt with Spring, with Summer half imbrown'd, A liſtleſs Climate made, where, Sooth to ſay, No living Wight could work, ne cared even for Play.

Gorblimey, would you ’ave a butcher’s at the bristols on this bird in the currant bun! Astonishing, look at this woman's breasts printed on The Sun!

tern flowers; tern leaves