Only an utterer.

JUTE: Whoa? Whoat is the mutter with you?
MUTT: I became a stun a stummer.
JUTE: What a hauhauhauhaudible thing to be cause! How, Mutt?
MUTT: Aput the buttle, surd.
JUTE: Whose poddle? Wherein?
MUTT: The Inns of Dungtarf where Used awe to be he.
JUTE: You that side your voise are almost inedible to me. Become a bit-skin more wiseable, as if I were you.
MUTT: Has? Has af? Hasafency? Urp Boohooru! Booru Usurp! I trumple from rath in mine mines when I rimimirim!
JUTE: One eyegonblack. Bisons is bisons. Let me fore all your hasitancy cross your qualm with trinkgilt. Here have silvan coyne, a piece of oak. Ghinees hies good fir yew.
MUTT: Louee, louee! How wooden I not know it, the intellible greytcloak of Cedric Silkyshag! Cead mealy faulty rices for one dabblin bar. Old grilsy growlsy! He was poached on in that eggtentical spot. Here where the liveries, Monomark. There where the missers moony, Minnikin Passe.
JUTE: Sumply because, as Taciturn pretells, our wrongstoryshortener, he dumptied the wholeborrow of rubbages on to soil here?
MUTT: Just how a puddinstone inat the brookcells by a riverpool.
JUTE: Load allmarshy! Wid wad for a norse like?
MUTT: Somular with a bull on a clompturf. Rooks roarum rex roome! I could snore to him of the spumy horn, with his woolseley side in, by the neck I am sutton on, did Brian d’O Flinn.
JUTE: Boiledoyle and rawhoney on me when I can beuraly forstand a weird from sturk to finnic in such a patwhot as your rutterdamrotter, onheard of and umscene! Gut aftermeal! See you doomed.
MUTT: Quite agreem. Bussave a sec. Walk a dun blink roundward this all-butisle and you skull see how olde ye plaine of my Elters, hunfree and ours, where wone to wail whimbrel to peewee o’er the Saltings, where wilby citie by law of isthmon, where by a droit of signory icefloe was from his Inn the Bygning to whose Finishthere Punct. Let erehim ruhmuhrmuhr. Mearmerge two races, swete and brack. Morthering rue. Hither, craching estuards, they are in surgence: hence, cool at ebb, they requiesce. Countlessness of livestories have netherfallen by this plage, flick as flowflakes, litters from aloft, like a waast wizzard all of whirlwords. Now are all tombed to the mound, ishges to ishges, erde from erde. Pride, O pride, thy prize!
JUTE: ’Stench!
MUTT: Fiatfuit! Hereinunder lyethey. Llarge by the smal an’ everynight life olso th’estrange, babbylone the greatgrandhotelled with tit tit tittlehouse, alp on earwig, drukn on ild, likeas equal to anequal in this sound seemetery which iz leebez luv.
JUTE: ’Zmorde!
MUTT: Meldundleise! By the fearse wave benoughted. Despond’s sung. And thanacestross mound have swollup them all. This ourth of years is not save brickdust and being humus the same roturns. He who runes may rede it on all fours. O’c’stle, n’wc’stle, tr’c’stle, crumbling! Sell me sooth the fare for Humblin! Humbeldy Fair. But speak it allsosiftly, moulder! Be in your whisht!
JUTE: Whysht?
MUTT: The gyant Forficules with Amni the fay.
JUTE: Howe?
MUTT: Here is viceking’s graab.
JUTE: Hwaad!
MUTT: Ore you astoneaged, jute you?
JUTE: Oye am thonthorstrok, thing mud!

(Stoop), if you are abcedminded, to this claybook, what curios of signs (please stoop) in this allaphbed! Can you rede (since We and Thou had it out already) its world? It is the some told of all. Many. Miscegenations on miscegenations. Tieckle. They lived und laughed and loved end left.