I have a rorty gal, also a knowing pal, / And merrily together we jog on, / I doesn't care a flatch, as long as I've a tach, / Some pannum for my chest, and a tog on.
How pure and immixed the design is.
So, after a spell, he decided to make the best of it and shoved us into the front parlor. 'Twas a dismal sort of place, with hair wreaths, and wax fruit, and tin lambrekins, and land knows what all.
The next day we started up toward the pass. The Sanju is a well-known bad pass. There was much bad ice, but for us get good luck over it, by kindly of snow.
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