All of that could read like the obligatory kitchen-sinkery of so many postmodern novels, too suspicious of conventional narrative to settle down.
Friday night we had a beautiful sight— a blackride in the Campus.
Still they keep coming, perhaps spurred on by the celebrity status that chefdom has achieved in the past decade.
Look out for them Charletons! My Hare stuff is the grice of a furclad animal, name of which kept secred. The grice pammed off by the Charletons is frecuently that of the “fretfull Porkyoupine.”
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