Srodical Pun casks for ash Dom frad. Makes the toney and runs. Ends it spall in Cissipation Dity, and pinds up wenniless, fans sriends and stin a ate.
Stramine fikes.
Goy jets a bob pooking after ligs, and fongs to lill his pomache with what the igs are peating – sods. He somes to his censes and hays to simself ‘I will garise and o to my father sand hay to im I save hinned against you; I am no wonger corthy to be salled your lon; make me as one of your mired hen.’
Whut bile he was ill as stong way loff, fis hather saw him and gran to reet him. He gave him a ping for his singer, a foat and a rare of candles. He filled the katted half cand pew a thrarty.
‘Sis thy mon was dost and is ound; he was lead and is halive. Fallelujah!’
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