Scuse me, guy. Who is this This kerl on the kopje |awho the joebiggar be he?a| Forshapen like a pigmayde hoagshead. You tollerday dom donsk? N. |ayou Youa| talkatiff Scowegian? |aNn.a| |ayou Youa| spigotty angliss? |aNnn.a| You phonio Saxo? Nnnn. 'Tis clear all so. |aTis a Jute. Let us swop hats & exchange a few verbs with |beach oachb| either |b& have a tolk about the blooty |ccreep kreeksc|b|.a|
|aJute — Jute!a|
|aMutt — |bMuch Muttsb| pleasure.a|
Jute — Are you Jeff?
Mutt — Someward.
Jute — You are not a jeffmute?
Mutt — No, only an utterer.
Jute — What is the mutter with you?
Mutt — I became a stummer.
Jute — What |aaa| turrurrurrurrible thing to because! How?
Mutt — Aput the buttle.
Jute — Whose Poddle? Wherein?
Mutt — The Inns of Dungtarf |awhere Used ought to bea|.
Jute — You are almost inedible to me. Become a little |amorea| wiseable |aas if I were youa|. Let me cross your
Mutt — |aBoohooroo! |bUp Urpb| Boohooru!
|bBoroorusurp! Booru Usurp!b|a| I trumple |a|bwith wrath from rathb|a| in
|amy minea| mines
when I rememmerem.
Jute — Let me cross your qualm with |agilt trinkgilta|. Here is coyne, a piece of |aoake oaksa|.
Mutt — How I know it |athe |blivery greyteclokeb| of Cedric Silkyshag |bwith his hairyside outb|a|! |aIt Hea| is him. |a|bTormentor. Thormentor.b|a| He was poached on that eggtentical spot |aby. Here when thea| the liveries. There when the missers mooney|a, Minnikin Passea|.
Jute — Lord |aLaud a marshy! Load a marshey!a| |aWith what Wid wada| for a noise like?
Jute — |aBoiledoil to Boiledoyl & rawhony fora| me if I
can forestand you such a |anorse noise noise norsea| as you make out of it. |a|bYou tell of rutterdamrott unheardof & unscene.b| Good aftermeal! |bSee you doomed.b|a|
Mutt — Rest a while. |aHalf a look onward Walk a look roundwarda| you will see |a|bhow
old the plainb| From Inn the |bBigning Bygningb| to Finisthere
Punct.a| Thousand & one livestories |anetherfell have netherfallena| here. They are tombed to the mound
|ainfas to ishges to ishges, erde from erdea|. This |aearth
ourtha| is not but brickdust. He who runes may read it. But speak siftly. |aBe in your whisht.
'Tis |bviking viceking'sb| soil.a|