Suppose an artist, after having completed such a picture, in a moment of intoxication, goes into his studio, takes his brush, dips it into black paint, and applies it thereto. Only one smouch and the work of months is destroyed!
In the first stage, the chordee is corrected, followed by urethroplasty from the neopenile skin flaps after an interval of at least 6 months.
But Mom describes my life that year pretty accurately when she says that I had become a “swoose”- that is to say, not a swan and not a goose.
I believe it was the George the Something or other, although I feel sure that no monarch of any era would have felt at home in the neighbourhood or been gratified by the alepost's honourable mention of him.
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