s t Cotton Mated so, every one of tural. t-a-tat-tat on tly jingling ttle bells on tous revellers used to ive season back t;merryquot; into Merry England!
And no on forcing ts to celebrate Cmas o or no.
t t George, ed silver, urkis, a cableclotied round urban, fencing o every Cmas in try, going from o ed far more deeply in antiquity t claimed to celebrate.
t of t George and turkis figil Saint George knocks turkis door, o life again -- a sion. (Or else a ritual of revivification, depending on ones degree of fait.)
ter of ting revels mas, to itco ts, ly fell doo be cer a glimpse of tocks. op sported paper roses. ed bladder tered true antique, as old as tival t existed at mider before Cmas of. Older.
s live, all year round, in terror. Fatmas is ard son, w being obscene enough.
ted ter Solstice, turns. t Saturnalia and let t for tion, urvy and almost everyt occurred s at time of t s today.
Yet from tom festival on thing is forgiven.
A merry Cmas is Cotton Mat nightmare.
If a little merriment imparts itself to t experience it as pleasure. tables, and tered beasts; t tolerate, of unreason t used to mark, over ted season of ts are longer t run and you t never come back again.
t cry: Avaunt t thee hence!
tous sime. And taking its Dionysiac cre.
But, just as to be engulfed, t mas pudding t still floated on ter. tmas pudding, sprigged uffed s, raisins, almonds, figs, compressed all tmas contraband into one fearful sphere.
tohe shore.
too, dolantic gulped , t .
Except, next morning, before datle cing t reluctantly into tance to t toes and, investigating furto t glee, eacs oness, plump as if it came from overegrating Cmas pudding.