The handsome sixfoottwo rugger and soccer champion and the belle of Chapelizod in her |aquite charminga| oceanblue brocade |awith iris petal sleeves |b& an overdress of net darned with goldb| well in advance of the fashiona| bunnyhugged scrumptiously in the dark |awhere |btheyb| dissimulated themselfa| behind the chief |asteward's stewardess'sa| cabin while with sinister dexterity he alternately rightandlefthandled |aon & offsidea| fore and aft the her palpable rugby and association bulbs. She murmurously asked for some but not too much of the best poetry |aquotationsa| reflecting on the situation|a, smtg a stroke above its a fine night and the moon shines bright and all to thata| |aher reason being the plain fact of the matter wasa| that by the light of the moon of the silvery moon she loved to spoon before her |ahoneymoomoon honeyoldmoon |bat the same time drinking deep draughts of purest air |cserenec|b|a|. He promptly then elocutioned to her |aa favourite lyrical blooma| in decasyllabic iambic hexameter:
— Roll on, thou deep and darkblue ocean, roll!
|aThe sea looked awfully pretty at that twilight hour |bso lovely with such wellmannered wavesb|a| It was |aa just tooa| gorgeous sensation he being exactly the right man in the right place and the weather conditions could not possibly have been improved |aona|. Her role was to roll on the darkblue ocean roll that rolled on round the round roll Robert Roly rolled round. She gazed while |afrom an altitude of 1 yard & 11½ina| his |adeep sea deepseaa| peepers gazed O gazed O dazedcrazedgazed into her darkblue rolling ocean |aeyes orbsa|.
|aNothing if not amorousa| He then having dephlegmatised his |athroat |bfrog in theb| guttur |band getting busy on the touchlineb|a| uttered |aas whata| follows from his |a|blofty toplofticalb|a| voicebox:
By elevation of eyelids that She addressed insinuated desideration of his declaration.
— Isolde, O Isolde, when |atheeupon theeuponthusa| I |asoa| oculise my most inmost Ego most vaguely senses the |aprofundity deprofunditya| of multimathematical immaterialities whereby in the pancosmic urge the Allimmanence of That Which Is Itself exteriorates on this here our plane of disunited solid liquid and gaseous bodies in pearlwhite passionpanting intuitions of reunited Selfhood in the higherdimensional Selflessness.
Hear, O hear, all ye caller herrings! Silent be, O Moyle! Milky Way, strew dim light!
|aShe When he had shut his duckhouse the vivid girla| reunited milkymouthily his her and their disunited lips and quick as greased lightning the Breton champion drove the advance messenger of love with one virile tonguethrust past the double line of ivoryclad forwards fullback rightjingbangshot into the goal of her gullet.
Now what do you candidly suppose she, a strapping young |aolda| Irish princess |a18 hands high &a| scaling nine stone twelve in her
|apelt madrapolam smock |bwith |cnothing not a
thingc| under her hat but red hair & solid ivory and a firstrate pair of bedroom eyesb|a| cared at that precise physiological moment about tiresome old King Mark, the
that tiresome old |apantaloon ourangoutan beavera| |awith his duty peck & his bronchial
troublea| in his tiresome old twentytwoandsixpenny shepherd's plaid trousers? Not as much as a pinch of henshit and that's the meanest thing that was ever known |ain this wide worlda|. No,
|aon the contrary far from ita|, if the |areala| truth must be told lovingly she lovegulped his pulpous propeller and both together in
most fashionable weather they both went all of a shiveryshaky quiveryquaky mixumgatherum yumyumyum. After which before the traditional ten seconds were up Tristan considerately allowed his farfamed chokegrip to relax and precautiously withdrew the instrument of rational speech from the procathedral of amorous seductiveness.
|a— I'm |bso realb| glad to have met you, Tris, |byou fascinator, you,b| she said, awfully bucked by the |bgratifyingb| experience of the love embrace from a |bnotoriety bigtimer |cwith an interesting tallow complexion |dfrom whom great things were expectedd|c|b| like him who was evidently a notoriety also in the poetry |bdepartmentb| for he never saw an orange but he thought of a porringer and to cut a long story short taking him by and large he meant everything to her just then, being her beau ideal of a true girl friend, handsome musical composer a thoroughbred Pomeranian lapdog, a box of |bpreservedb| crystallised ginger |bclove cushions peppermint slices satinette puffs lime tabletsb| and may even the Deity Itselfa|