Chapter 1895 of 1964 · 58 words · ~1 min read

LXVII.

But this poor girl was left in the great hall, While Scout, the parish guardian of the frail, Discussed (he hated beer yclept the "small") A mighty mug of _moral_ double ale. She waited until Justice could recall Its kind attentions to their proper pale, To name a thing in nomenclature rather[oc] Perplexing for most virgins--a child's father.