THE WASP IN A WIG -- full text, suppressed from THROUGH THE LOOKING-GLASS

Just before the mass of asterisks that indicate Alice's jump into the eighth and final rank where Alice will assume her queenly crown, Carroll once intended this episode to be included.

“I hope it encouraged him,” she said, as she turned to run down the hill:  “and now for the last brook, and to be a Queen!  How grand it sounds!”  A very few steps brought her to the edge of the book.  [‘THE WASP IN A WIG’ HERE]  “The Eighth Square at last!” she cried….

It's generally believed that Tenniel's argument with the episode (both artistic and contextual) was the primary impetus for its removal (and, really, how attached to it could Carroll have been if he let it go?), and critics generally believe the book is better without it (remember also that Carroll likely had not begun the revision process for this episode; he regularly had text put to printing plates before editing them).  I hope you'll have a more open mind.  Its import is not its dubious contribution to the general plot, insofar as plot is a series of events, but in demonstrating Alice's maturity and grace--her arc of character--perhaps appropriately fitting/preparing her for the combined religious and patriotic significance of a crowning, even if it means the final and needful separation of Alice and Carroll.

As you read, note the contrast of age between Alice and the Wasp, and remember that at the time of this book's publication, Carroll was twice as old as Alice: he was 40; she was going on 20.

The Wasp in a Wig

...and she was just going to spring over, when she heard a deep sigh, which seemed to come from the wood behind her.

"There’s somebody very unhappy there," she thought, looking anxiously back to see what was the matter. Something like a very old man (only that his face was more like a wasp) was sitting on the ground, leaning against a tree, all huddled up together, and shivering as if he were very cold.

"I don’t think I can be of any use to him," was Alice’s first thought, as she turned to spring over the brook: - "but I’ll just ask him what’s the matter," she added, checking herself on the very edge. "If I once jump over, everything will change, and then I can’t help him."

So she went back to the Wasp - rather unwillingly, for she was very anxious to be a queen.

"Oh, my old bones, my old bones!" he was grumbling as Alice came up to him.

"It’s rheumatism, I should think," Alice said to herself, and she stooped over him, and said very kindly, "I hope you’re not in much pain?"

The Wasp only shook his shoulders, and turned his head away. "Ah deary me!" he said to himself.

"Can I do anything for you?" Alice went on. "Aren’t you rather cold here?"

"How you go on!" the Wasp said in a peevish tone. "Worrity, Worrity! There never was such a child!"

Alice felt rather offended at this answer, and was very nearly walking on and leaving him, but she thought to herself "Perhaps it’s only pain that makes him so cross." So she tried once more.

"Won’t you let me help you round to the other side? You’ll be out of the cold wind there."

The Wasp took her arm, and let her help him round the tree, but when he got settled down again he only said, as before, "Worrity, worrity! Can’t you leave a body alone?"

"Would you like me to read you a bit of this?" Alice went on, as she picked up a newspaper which had been lying at his feet.

"You may read it if you’ve a mind to," the Wasp said, rather sulkily. "Nobody’s hindering you, that I know of."

So Alice sat down by him, and spread out the paper on her knees, and began. "Latest News. The Exploring Party have made another tour in the Pantry, and have found five new lumps of white sugar, large and in fine condition. In coming back - "

"Any brown sugar?" the Wasp interrupted.

Alice hastily ran her eyes down the paper and said "No. It says nothing about brown."

"No brown sugar!" grumbled the Wasp. "A nice exploring party!"

"In coming back," Alice went on reading, "they found a lake of treacle. The banks of the lake were blue and white, and looked like china. While tasting the treacle, they had a sad accident: two of their party were engulped - "

"Where what?" the Wasp asked in a very cross voice.

"En-gulph-ed," Alice repeated, dividing the word in syllables.

"There’s no such word in the language!" said the Wasp.

"It’s in the newspaper, though," Alice said a little timidly.

"Let’s stop it here!" said the Wasp, fretfully turning away his head.

Alice put down the newspaper. "I’m afraid you’re not well," she said in a soothing tone. "Can’t I do anything for you?"

"It’s all along of the wig," the Wasp said in a much gentler voice.

"Along of the wig?" Alice repeated, quite pleased to find that he was recovering his temper.

"You’d be cross too, if you’d a wig like mine," the Wasp went on. "They jokes, at one. And they worrits one. And then I gets cross. And I gets cold. And I gets under a tree. And I gets a yellow handkerchief. And I ties up my face - as at the present."

Alice looked pityingly at him. "Tying up the face is very good for the toothache," she said.

"And it’s very good for the conceit," added the Wasp.

Alice didn’t catch the word exactly. "Is that a kind of toothache?" she asked.

The Wasp considered a little. "Well, no," he said: "it’s when you hold up your head -so - without bending your neck."

"Oh, you mean stiff-neck," said Alice.

The Wasp said "That’s a new-fangled name. They called it conceit in my time."

"Conceit isn’t a disease at all," Alice remarked.

"It is, though," said the Wasp: "wait till you have it, and then you’ll know. And when you catches it, just try tying a yellow handkerchief round your face. It’ll cure you in no time!"

He untied the handkerchief as he spoke, and Alice looked at his wig in great surprise. It was bright yellow like the handkerchief, and all tangled and tumbled about like a heap of sea-weed. "You could make your wig much neater," she said, "if only you had a comb."

"What, you’re a Bee, are you?" the Wasp said, looking at her with more interest. "And you’ve got a comb. Much honey?"

"It isn’t that kind," Alice hastily explained. "It’s to comb hair with - your wig’s sovery rough, you know."

"I’ll tell you how I came to wear it," the Wasp said. "When I was young, you know, my ringlets used to wave - "

A curious idea came into Alice’s head. Almost every one she had met had repeated poetry to her, and she thought she would try if the Wasp couldn’t do it too. "Would you mind saying it in rhyme?" she asked very politely.

"It aint what I’m used to," said the Wasp: "however I’ll try; wait a bit." He was silent for a few moments, and then began again -

"When I was young, my ringlets waved
And curled and crinkled on my head:
And then they said ‘You should be shaved,
And wear a yellow wig instead.’

But when I followed their advice,
And they had noticed the effect,
They said I did not look so nice
As they had ventured to expect.

They said it did not fit, and so
It made me look extremely plain:
But what was I to do, you know?
My ringlets would not grow again.

So now that I am old and grey,
And all my hair is nearly gone,
They take my wig from me and say
‘How can you put such rubbish on?’

And still, whenever I appear,
They hoot at me and call me ‘Pig!’
And that is why they do it, dear,
Because I wear a yellow wig."

"I’m very sorry for you," Alice said heartily: "and I think if your wig fitted a little better, they wouldn’t tease you quite so much."

"Your wig fits very well," the Wasp murmured, looking at her with an expression of admiration: "it’s the shape of your head as does it. Your jaws aint well shaped, though - I should think you couldn’t bite well?"

Alice began with a little scream of laughing, which she turned into a cough as well as she could. At last she managed to say gravely, "I can bite anything I want,"

"Not with a mouth as small as that," the Wasp persisted. "If you was a-fighting, now - could you get hold of the other one by the back of the neck?"

"I’m afraid not," said Alice.

"Well, that’s because your jaws are too short," the Wasp went on: "but the top of your head is nice and round." He took off his own wig as he spoke, and stretched out one claw towards Alice, as if he wished to do the same for her, but she kept out of reach, and would not take the hint. So he went on with his criticisms.

"Then, your eyes - they’re too much in front, no doubt. One would have done as well as two, if you must have them so close - "

Alice did not like having so many personal remarks made on her, and as the Wasp had quite recovered his spirits, and was getting very talkative, she thought she might safely leave him. "I think I must be going on now," she said. "Good-bye."

"Good-bye, and thank-ye," said the Wasp, and Alice tripped down the hill again, quite pleased that she had gone back and given a few minutes to making the poor old creature comfortable.

GENRE FICTION: KEELER versus PATTERSON by analogy of METAL

While I tend to avoid for the most part the "lesser" writing of so-called genre-fiction (becoming less and less the case as I continue to find, or am introduced to, examples of the stuff of unimpeachable literary excellence), I have always harbored a taste, and kept it fairly closeted until now, for another strain of genre, this one "musical" (quotes should connote potential for sarcasm) --that of heavy metal.  Just like mystery and sci-fi and thriller and horror and whatever else in fiction, so in music there is hip-hop, R&B, grunge, metal, jazz, and so on--ad infinitum, really (just check out that family tree of rock n' roll below).

a graphical history of 40 years' of rock n' roll, from lindsargwatt.com

I have not been quiet about my recent reading of Harry Stephen Keeler's mystery novel, Riddle of the Traveling Skull, which both delighted and astonished me.  I am now reading another genre piece, this one by famed genre master ("genre": though not typical of this author; and "master" only if sheer staggering quantity of book sales qualifies one for such a title), James Patterson: his Witch and Wizard (well, it's not really his--some Charbonet character, ghost writer--but has his name on the cover and bigger, which is essentially the same thing, as I can't imagine he'd sign off on it if it didn't at least match his far-from stringent qualifications).  While I firmly believe that Keeler surpassed the typecast of his genre (and this by a dense combination of wit, originality, utter abandonment of reality, and a total dedication to his craft), Patterson has murdered it.

Let's keep things as positive as possible, however, at least for a minute, if no more, because, well, Patterson must be doing something right if he's got 200 million books sold, right?  W&W is written for teens.  Teens have a short attention span (if this sounds like an insult, it's meant to; I don't feel this way about adolescents, but clearly Patterson does).  So instead of bogging down the reader with things like exposition and description and even emotion, Patterson simply deletes them.  Sure, the more seasoned reader is left with the impression that he's reading a plot summary or liner notes under the panels of storyboard illustrations for in-development B-movie, but teens are eating it up.  And, well, it could even be seen as a good introduction to fantasy for new readers, especially because there's absolutely nothing original to it. The book flagrantly steals most obviously and glaringly from The Lord of the Rings and Harry Potter, among many others, including Lev Grossman's The Magicians (any of which is a little like watching some hack in the audition rounds of American Idol attempt a Whitney Houston number--why would he even want to have his book compared to theirs???).

Now, I've never read anything else by Patterson, so take my snap judgments of him with a grain of salt, and I don't plan to, especially after this.  I picked up W&W because so many of my students are reading it, and I wanted to be able to talk to them about it.  That and it was only 6 bucks at Wal-Mart, and I needed a new book for the bathroom.  Perhaps my problem here--because, really, this book is not next door to terrible, but flagrantly squatting in Terrible's moldy boiler room--is that maybe, just maybe, Patterson should have left fantasy alone and stuck with his more practiced genres of thriller and mystery, not to mention his shift of target audience (which audience, teen/young adult, and which genre, fantasy, tend toward the realms of sacred for me, especially in the case of the audience he's infiltrating (maybe I'm just jealous!)).  To really get my point across, however, I think I need to paint all this in the vibrant tones of analogy.

When I was a teen, my favorite genre band--hard rock/metal (metal, of course, is a subjective term and has developed significantly over the last thirty years) --was Metallica: slightly more musical than others, certainly more popular, and particularly great for weight-room blasting after track practice.  Over the years, of course, I grew up, and slowly grew away from Metallica.  In 1999, however, genre buster and genius composer/conductor for the San Francisco Symphony, Michael Kamen, decided to do up a fat concert's-worth of Metallica charts for symphonic orchestra, and charter the band to take the stage right with the strings and brass, winds and percussion.

The result was absolutely tremendous, and I loved it.  If pulp mysteries may be perhaps aligned with metal, maybe specifically Metallica, then Harry Stephen Keeler is Michael Kamen: a little bit crazy, a little bit genius, a lot reckless, and totally given up to having fun with what he does best and loves.  No matter how crazy, it just freaking works.

James Patterson, on the other hand, and apart from genre shifting yet, is more like pop hard rockers Godsmack, who simply take all the ideas that everyone else has already had, inject it all with a little more sex, a little more violence, and lot more bad language, and sell it to the highest bidder: teenagers.  Now imagine, just for a minute and the sake of argument, that a band like Godsmack took something sacred, like, oh, I don't know, Debussy's "Claire de Lune" and translated it to their particular brand of metal?  Well, you'd get--  Hold on.  Let me repeat that fantasy has more potential for sublimity, I think, than any of the other "genres."  Disbelieve me?  Take a look at the greats: Lord of the Rings and Ender's Game, a couple of my most mainstream favorites, and Summerland, though it's less well-known, or the brilliant stuff that someone like Margaret Atwood or Lewis Carroll or Louis Lowry or, heck, even Douglas Adams (to name only a few of the dozens of this world's and our history's greats) can do with it.  Let's use Lord of the Rings.  It's about as obvious for it's brilliance as is Debussy's "Moonlight."  See what I'm getting at here?  "Claire de Lune" is to Godsmack as Lord of the Rings is to James Patterson.

When it comes right down to it, the idea behind W&W is actually pretty okay, but instead of giving it to Godsmack (because Patterson DID NOT WRITE IT), why not dish it off to a band that can actually play--like a Sevendust or a Tool or a Porcupine Tree (okay, not metal, but it would be awesome) or, yeah, even Metallica?  Better yet, why not a Michael Kamen and the brute, masterful force of his orchestra behind him?  Because I still like a lot of metal out there.  And sometimes, cross-genre translations do work, but I'm sorry: Mr. Patterson, Ms. Charbonnet, yours doesn't.

(Ugh.  I'm gonna go read a poem.)

Through the Looking Glass X -- chapter 8: FAREWELL, WHITE KNIGHT

1. "I've a great mind to go and wake [the Red King], and see what happens," says Alice, shortly after a very Inception-like moment.  What's important here, I think, is Alice's acknowledgment that she hopes it's her dream, not the King's.
2. While Carroll is fairly transparently present in the Red King, he is even more obviously embodied in the White Knight, which, by all evidence, was an intentional characterization by Carroll (from Martin Gardner's notes): "Jeffrey Stern, in his article 'Carroll Identifies Himself at Last' (Jabberwocky, Summer/Autumn 1990), describes a game board hand-drawn by Carroll that was recently discovered.  The nature of the frame is unknown, but on the underside of the cardboard sheet Carroll had written 'Olive Butler, from the White Knight.  Nov. 21, 1892.'  'So, at last,' Stern comments, 'we know for certain the Carroll did portray himself as the White Knight.'"
3. It makes sense to ask, if this is indeed a game of chess being played out, who it is controlling the pieces.  Is it the Red King who is dreaming it?  Is it a meeting of two dreams--that of Alice, who is here a white pawn, together with that of the Red King, and therefor representing indeed the two sides of the board?  Well, the puppet-like, Punch-and-Judy behavior of the Red and White Knights may indicate otherwise--that there is indeed but one player--one puppet master--playing for both sides.  How, if at all, does this play against Alice's hope for this to be her dream?  Consider also that while Wonderland was written specifically for Alice Liddell, Looking-Glass bears more indicators that it was composed for reasons personal to Carroll.
4. What significance is there to the White Knight's escorting Alice to assume her queen-ship?
5. Aside from the "proof" of Jeffrey Stern, what more immediate, though more circumstantial, evidence is there to indicate Carroll's caricature in the White Knight?  Along these lines, and essentially invisible by reading the text alone, Carroll was something of an amateur inventor; also, contrast the White Knights treatment of Alice against her treatment at the hands of pretty much all of the other characters in the two books.
6. A.A. Milne (1952) suggests that the horse's ankle spikes inspired "The Hunting of the Snark," as the Knight intends them "to guard against the bites of sharks," and so "the compositor in his first proof made the very easy substitution of an 'n' for an 'h', and set Carroll wondering what the bites of snarks were like ... wondering until inevitably The Hunting of the Snark followed, which is the way such things get written."
7. A further suggestion that the White Knight is the true master of Looking-Glass House is the load of his pack and horse, which recall a variety of moments throughout the two books.  Can you spot and identify them?
8. "Of all the strange things that Alice saw in her journey Through The Looking-Glass, this was the one that she always remembered most clearly."
9. It's possible that the old man on the gate is a reflection--and unforgettable by him--of the White Knight, who, of course, is a reflection--and unforgettable by Alice--of Lewis Carroll.
10. "...but you didn't cry so much as I thought you would."  This chapter, also the longest, is, I think, reflective (like so many other things within and, by nature of its title, without it) of the underlying tone of the whole book, as put by Donald Rackin: that of "a love between a child all potential, freedom, flux, and growing up and a man all impotence, imprisonment, stasis, and falling down."  And when she finally leaves him, not so sad as he might have hoped, and even perhaps free of him, she is a queen.

Before moving on to chapter 9, we will examine the episode "The Wasp in a Wig."

Through the Looking Glass IX -- chapter 7: THE ALICE MONSTER

1. 2 games: 1, the characters Nobody and Somebody; and 2, what's so clever about the Anglo-Saxon messengers' inclusion in Alice's impromptu "I Love My Love" beginning now with the typical A by an H?
2. We've seen before how Alice's words or wishes affect her surroundings.  Here the ham sandwich and hay; before the cakes and cordials.
3. The Lion and the Unicorn
4. The attitude of the Unicorn upon seeing and meeting the twice-as-natural-as-life Alice reminds me of a rather unfortunate trend I first noticed while living in Italy, but have since observed quite more than I'd like in the United States: that is parents having children (well, the impetus of the having is debatable, but the subsequent treating of them is not) not, in the Darwinian attitude, to carry on their line, but to flout as a fashion accessory, like taking a fancy dog for a walk, but only after tricking it out in fancy collar and gilt clothes.  The child becomes no more than a purse or a cell-phone, and is quite forgotten for being sentient and independently mobile.  Poor Alice!
5. The drums fail to drum out of town the two fighting monsters, but succeed in drumming out Alice.
6. (There is political repartee here in chapter 7, and you're welcome to bring it up if you like.)

Wednesday's for Kids XV -- SEUSSIAN CAPTCHA

Happy Birthday, Good Doctor!

The Fraters Welosi and the Azablu Foush'ni

by Mr. Center with Captcha by Google

Old Zorlag and Jubat funcied in Welosi

wipling aboge’ more zyzafil ungly.

“If only, if only, weren’t Pento so mograble,”

said they, “then the pyrris would steshu inectable!”

But terrible Firlect, a construct of Flaticut

depotied the fraters and mingoed their crion up

a great ougue, with Paccateu the ceileable Azablu,

vesesurping their loger by blisting a proscu!

But Zorlag and Jubat weren’t so easy to blist,

and “Untroff!” they called to more fraters in Brabst,

who came bibling on dancles to speaf all the skarrems

of Pento the Mograble, now depotied to Foushens!

“Shulashu!” pierped Zorlag, the old frater of Jubat.

“For Pento’s old pyrris is grint up in Flaticut!

“Our aboge’ is zyzafil,” said Jubat, “and ungly,

and we can all mingo in ragit, Welosi.”

*  I certainly don't intend to flatter myself or harbor dishonor, because this pathetically pales alongside both the great authors; but this terrible "poem" bears elements (though certainly weakly) both Seussian and Carrollian.  Of course, Carroll never wrote, that I'm aware, in anapests (and Seuss did them clearly much better), and Seuss's inventions, like Carroll's, make sense.  Besides, I had to meet my own challenge.  Regardless, I wish Dr. Seuss a good birthday, wherever he is; his stories have shaped my life!

Through the Looking Glass VIII -- chapter 6: THE NIHILIST PHILOLOGIST

Discussion of the Alice books here have tended periodically to indicate nihilism.  Humpty Dumpty is a perfect example of one who, regardless of what he professes, is a nihilist in practice (so far as I understand the given -ism), though his disregard for any established order seems most consistently targeted at the rules of semantics:  Humpty Dumpty, the Nihilist Philologist.

For the most part, I haven't looked too closely at the nihilism of Carroll (if you haven't followed the discussions from previous posts, you may want to take a look at the nihilism of The Cosby Show, here, at McSweeney's, for a ridiculous point of comparison), because it hasn't fit, or so it seemed to me at the time, with my whole selfish reason for this read-through.  Well, I'm not so sure I've been right to neglect it (though I'm not yet wholly convinced otherwise yet, either).

So here's the question (and I'm leaving it simple in order to invite the broadest possible range of responses):

Based on the Alice books, what, if articulated,

would be Carroll's stance on nihilism?

Aside from that, the substance of this chapter has rather little to do with my goal.  There are, however, some interesting points yet to be made (to which I'm happy to invite more):

1. Is Humpty, as an egg, a continuation of the egg from the end of the previous chapter, or a new entity entirely (notice that except for his condescension, Alice still isn't able to reach him)?
2. Humpty's frequent use of the word "pride" only emphasizes what is already evident in his nature.  Take a look at Proverbs 16:18 (thanks, Mr. Gardner).
3. "One ca'n't [help growing older], but two can.  With proper assistance, you might have left off at seven."  Truly the darkest allusion to death of the books.
4. Humpty's claim that words mean whatever the speaker/writer wants isn't that far from the truth.  Or is it?  Words are only representations or signs for things, not the things themselves.  There's a huge discussion here, but I'm going to keep it simple and quote Roger Holmes' article "The Philosopher's Alice in Wonderland" (thanks again, M. Gardner): "May we pay our words extra, or is this the stuff that propaganda is made of?  Do we have an obligation to past usage?  In one sense words are our masters, or communication would be impossible.  In another we are the masters; otherwise there could be no poetry."
5. Joyce's Finnegans Wake takes a lot from, or refers often to, the Alice books, not least of which is the potential import of nonsense.  Finnegans Wake as a whole is perhaps most apt for comparison, however, to this chapter, as Joyce takes complete liberty with language of this book in his writing.  One word in particular, as it recalls our big egghead here: Bothallchoractorschumminaroundgansumuminarumdrumstrumtruminahumptadumpwaultopoofoolooderamaunsturnup
6. A possible place of inspiration for Humpty Dumpty's recitation of, perhaps, Carroll's worst poem:

Summer Days

Wathen Marks Wilks Call
In summer, when the days were long, 
We walk’d, two friends, in field and wood; 
Our heart was light, our step was strong, 
And life lay round us, fair as good, 
In summer, when the days were long. 

We stray’d from morn till evening came, 
We gather’d flowers, and wove us crowns; 
We walk’d mid poppies red as flame, 
Or sat upon the yellow downs, 
And always wish’d our life the same. 

In summer, when the days were long, 
We leap’d the hedgerow, cross’d the brook; 
And still her voice flow’d forth in song, 
Or else she read some graceful book, 
In summer, when the days were long. 

And then we sat beneath the trees, 
With shadows lessening in the noon; 
And in the sunlight and the breeze 
We revell’d, many a glorious June, 
While larks were singing o’er the leas. 

In summer, when the days were long, 
We pluck’d wild strawberries, ripe and red, 
Or feasted, with no grace but song, 
On golden nectar, snow-white bread, 
In summer, when the days were long. 

We lov’d, and yet we knew it not, 
For loving seem’d like breathing then; 
We found a heaven in every spot; 
Saw angels, too, in all good men, 
And dream’d of gods in grove and grot. 

In summer, when the days are long, 
Alone I wander, muse alone; 
I see her not, but that old song 
Under the fragrant wind is blown, 
In summer, when the days are long. 

Alone I wander in the wood, 
But one fair spirit hears my sighs; 
And half I see the crimson hood, 
The radiant hair, the calm glad eyes, 
That charm’d me in life’s summer mood. 

In summer, when the days are long, 
I love her as I lov’d of old; 
My heart is light, my step is strong, 
For love brings back those hours of gold, 
In summer, when the days are long.

Google CAPTCHA, List #2

WRITING EXERCISE:

EASY -- Use ten of these words in a short story, poem, or other comment.

HARD -- Use all of these words in a short story or essay.  

Though difficult, really, this list provides everything from character names, locations, vices, nouns, atmosphere, slang....  I am yet amazed at the variety and potential inherent meaning to so many of these "words."

admanica  |  alshedba  |  anded  |  azablu  |  beedr  |  bilingan  |  blytomet  |  boolino  |  brabsts  |  brons  |  canna  |  ceileable  |  coaketr  |  cochee  |  colem  |  comaspri  |  comba  |  conis  |  crion  |  dakeel  |  dancle  |  deteri  |  diaglyce  |  dited  |  ecooscer  |  elogie  |  enerow  |  ensfulas  |  entip  |  firlect  |  forree  |  fospenud  |  foushen  |  funci  |  galince  |  grabywo  |  gratinge  |  grint  |  haddism  |  heent  |  hinche  |  houroup  |  huyok  |  idofig  |  ilionglo  |  inalk  |  ionglym  |  iroitypt  |  irtsinio  |  isemceme  |  joliphea  |  jubat  |  kingly  |  kryisgra  |  lessess  |  logyr  |  machen  |  menring  |  mingo  |  misib  |  mistanes  |  modat  |  mograble  |  momete  |  mothrock  |  nicadmis  |  nisma  |  nubcati  |  pandes  |  patsi  |  patte  |  phout  |  prelvel  |  pyrris  |  quinat  |  ragit  |  rebrai  |  redia  |  reptor  |  resse  |  restrall  |  retse  |  ropsij  |  shulasho  |  soccesse  |  solloste  |  speaf  |  spepeket  |  sproppia  |  sudazpa  |  torli  |  unnisbeh  |  untroff  |  vesesurp  |  wasubbef  |  welosi  |  whiolv  |  wilunni  |  wipli  |  zormag