It was all he had left

    "In what way does the preceding paragraph advance the plot?" asked Konrad.

    "Botticelli," said his namesake, causing several tons of goobly webble to drip like icing-sugar from the packet of chaffinch that all-of-a-hyphen alighted from the bus. Standing room bonely! Move down the list...

    "Well, it's just balls, isn't it?" protested the customer.

    "I told you so," said Big Bird.

    "O ono nyou ou dididintnt!" The other popes were less than synchronous, as wasn't Conrad, other than Khartoum. Theodora's feathers were not universes; some had as many as fifty. Four Kharswells spoke as a bust of Longfellow. "Henry, old bean," they soliloquised, "Up upon the overmantle / If there's dust you never-can-tell / Finding out is rather pointless / Not unlike a broken pencil."

    "Why blither...?" murmured Earwicker. Pangram did not reply, having only at his disposal G, K, Z and a second-hand beige Skoda. "You can't use K twice," said Earwicker, realizing. "That's what they said about the Skoda," Pangram retorted. He was fined three H's, four A's, four T's, two S's, an E, a D and an O. Recycling the bits, the weels proved of incalculable diameter. "Ulp!" he said. It was all he had left. "G#" contributed Galway, sitting on the broken violin briefly.

    "Get real..." Konrad suggested lugubriously. But there were too many to be happy blue. Like the pencil, but bring back the pink. Beerbohm Tree at any rate was dead, and Henry Irving joined him.