An unruly voice raises its ugly tones.
Yer bleedin' toffee-nosed pillock. Yer roamin' 'baht ta graveyard like yer classic burgle caper and yer doesn't once use ta word 'barrow' or 'Bilbo.'
Shut up, Wylkynsion, roared Earnur. You wouldn't understand this.
Bleedin' right, Mate. Yer just lucky I didn't start wif the singin' 'Ere we go, 'ere we go' when yer was fallin' off ta bleedin' wall.
* * * *
I suspect, Squatter, that your wonderful words here have shown greater respect to The Professor's lifework than your midnight rendition of the elven did at his graveside, for here you show how truly you have taken up his love of words.
May your effort be an inspiration for all the Downers who haunt the Barrows. Thank you, humbly, for showing how it ought to be done.
Bethberry
[ February 18, 2003: Message edited by: Bethberry ]
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I’ll sing his roots off. I’ll sing a wind up and blow leaf and branch away.
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