"son gone" #21

Hand Forehead      ill heat      muster such comas      these boasts fusion his hip cause I rope God retain his name against all competition redoubt the Haldol.      He forgot. Lie this loathsome elect I red words who ran o way first palaver: wade in, Ted! who no more can do them harm spare that solicitation and shame reveal a friend: how he had been      how deserving all ships move sumptuously, impiously, and fully in thir able abyss I find affection Son, if the self bids high is her hand not thine? (thy pen? thy self?)