Cambellocker F39

The task was the last that the past master could grasp, but one can't mark his charm harmfully.

The stern learner heard from a bird how to burn turf in Turkey and Burma.

A bored walker swore talking about corn was a chore in the storm torn store outside the law.

She was seen to be evil in the mean streets where he bees feed and schemes are the key.

Tunes are used to lose the clues about astute losers whose crude boots bruised the loose newts.

The kids were hidden in the middle of the tin where the hit list was still wish to fictionally exist.

The sad man was actually a cad when marriage was banned and the bad band got splashed by the stacked hash.

The hell bent hen was speckled and freshly sent by the man of the tenth regiment.

Don't touch much stuff said the glum sun-struck nun who worried over the fun loving wonders.

She's got a soft spot in the grotto for washing tops and bottoms of costly socks while watching odd bods.

"Look at the cookbook" said the cook as he took the pullets and put them in the nook.

Actors and authors have a special set of acquaintances above another mezzanine area of the gallery where the woman can alert the workers.

"I hope you don't alone" moaned the old crone who was holding a cold toasting poker of oak.

It's how a stout brown owl scowl mouthed the house mouse and it's out with the foul bown trout.

A boy with a corn had a choice of moist soil and boiled oysters in broiled oil.

I might if I could try by buying, slyly fly from the guile of the white guise.