Pavel is not a Geordie
To make light of an execution I had skipped upon my happening toward a razer
The season had (in just) risen to me as if one singular demonstrative coup d'état would lift home Silver trophy ammunition
Veritably a diamond window with a singing crest would open for us the colour of bona fide Portuguese Aquitaine
But an English pub lass could not get so near as to pay Him for a white Russian