|1As slow their ship, |athe Silent Death, the sea being slight,a| upon the water moved by the courtesy of God1| The handsome |1|asunburnt brineburnta|1| 6footer |1Gaelic1| rugger and soccer champion and the dinkum belle of Lucalizod quite charming in her oceanblue brocade with iris petal sleeves and an overdress of net darned with gold well in advance of the |1fashion newest fashion exhibits1| bunnyhugged scrumptiously in the dark whilst they dissimulated themself |1on the 18 inch loveseat1| behind the chieftaness stewardess's cabin whilst with sinister dexterity he alternately rightandlefthandled fore and aft on and offside her palpable rugby and association bulbs. She |1after a cough1| murmurously |1asked for gave |aan a firma| order for tootsweet |aif he wouldn't please minda|1| some though not too much of the best poetry quotations reflecting on |1the their1| situation, so long as it was a stroke or two above its a fine night and the moon shines bright and all to that, the plain fact of the matter being that |1being a natural lover of nature1| by the light of the moon, of the silvery moon, she longed to spoon before her honeyoldmoon at the same time drinking deep draughts of purest sea air serene |1& revelling in the great outdoors1|. |1He That mouth |aof mandiblesa| vowed to pure beauty1| promptly then elocutionised to her a favourite lyrical bloom |1bellclear1| in iambic decasyllabic hexameter:
— Roll onº thou deep and darkblue ocean, roll!
|1Lord1| It was just too gorgeous for words the whole sensation. The sea |1of a pure tint embellished by nature,1| with |1its1| wellmannered waves, |1all the |aunread unruly horrid rudea| ones |afrom Belfast directiona| being locked up in the nursery1| looked awfully pretty at the twilight hour and more especially he being exactly the right man in the right place, the weather conditions could not possibly have been improved on. |1Praises be to fair sea.1| Her rôle was to roll on the darkblue ocean roll that rolled on round the round roll Robert Roly rolled round. |1Breathtaking beauty, Ireland's prettiest1| She did but gaze while from his altitude of one yard eleven inches his deepseapeepers gazed O gazed O dazedcrazedgazed into her darkblue rolling ocean orbs.
|1— Thanks |aevera| so much |a|bshe said, thrilled by the olive throb of his throatb| for that tiny quotea|. |aThat was most enjoyable It made everything ever so much more enjoyablea|.1|
Nothing if not amorous |1he he, the rosecrumpler,1| then having dephlegmatised his guttur of that tickly frog in the throat and, |1his useful arm1| getting busy on the touchline |1south of her shoulder1|, uttered what follows |1with |aaa| grand passion1| from his toploftical voicebox:
— Isolde, O Isolde! |1Sister Soul and Hand.1| When theeuponthus |1I oculise
my binoculises his1| most inmost Ego most subconsciously senses the deprofundity of multimathematical immaterialities whereby in the pancosmic urge the allimmanence of That Which is Itself exteriorates on this here our plane in disunited solid, liquid and gaseous bodies
in pearlwhite passionpanting intuitions of reunited Selfhood in the higherdimensional selflessness.
Hear, O hear, all ye caller herring! Silent be, O Moyle! Milky Way, strew dim light!
|1Here a pretty thing happened.1| When |1he her flattering hand of diversion mayhap1| had |1jessaminely1| shut his duckhouse |1at the proper moment1| the vivid girl|1, deaf with love, |a(You know her |bthat angel being,b| 1 of love's |bfadelessb| wonderwomena|. You dote on her. You love her too to death)1| |1with a queer little cry1| reunited milkymouthily his her and their disunited lips and, |1tonguetasting his golden opportunity1| quick as greased lightning the Armorican champion drove the advance messenger of love with one virile tonguethrust past the double line of ivoryclad forwards fullback right jingbangshotº into the goal of her gullet.
Now |1I'll just put it direct to you1| what |1the diggings1| do you candidly suppose she, a strapping young old Irish princess, 18 hands high and scaling nine stone twelve in her madapolam smock with nothing under her hat but red hair and solid ivory and a firstrate pair of bedroom eyes |1of most unholy hazel1| cared at that precise physiological moment about tiresome old King Mark|1, that tiresome old milkless ram1| with his duty peck and his bronchial |1trouble troubles1|, the tiresome old ourangoutan beaver in his tiresome old twentytwoandsixpenny and sixpenny shepherd's plaid trousers? Not as much as a pinch of henshit and that's the meanest thing that was ever known in this wide world. No, |1heaven knows,1| far from it, if the unvarnished truth must be told |1at the very first blush1| lovingly she lovegulped |1his her American's1| pulpous propeller while both together in the most fashionable weather they all went off a lulliloving blank after which before the traditional 10 seconds were up |1volatile1| Brittany|1, believing in safety first,1| considerately allowed his farfamed |1sparking plug1| chokegrip to relax and considerately precautiously withdrew the instrument of rational speech from the procathedral of amorous seductiveness.
— I'm real glad to have run on to you, Trist, you fascinator, you! she said, |1when she had won free, |alaughing at the same time delightfully |bin dimpling bliss,b|a|1| awfully bucked by her gratifying experience of the love embrace from a |1highly continental1| bigtimer like him |1possessed of a handsome face which was well worth watching1| with an interesting tallow complexion from |1whom which1| great things were expected |1as a film star1| |1as for she fully realised that1| he was evidently a notoriety in the poetry department as well for he never saw |1her drink1| an orange but he |1thought of offered her1| a porringer and to cut a long story short taking him by and large |1he her |aonliesta| boy of her choice1| meant everything to her just then, beau ideal of a true girl's friend |1with red blood in his veins1| neither big ugly nor small nice.