Sentence The Onehundredandtwentysecond
'Annabelle, Annabelle,
Why don't you Go to Hell?
In your Titanic Vest.
You're just an Anapest,
And, when you Masticate
Loudly, you sound like Kate,
It's so hard to tolerate;
But that seems to be my Fate,
Now you're married to Jeremy,
My Brother's polysemy
Wife's my dear Relative,
I must find an adjective
I can use as a sedative
To deaden my senses,
Relax all my tenses,
Erect some high fences,
To keep you at bay
For just one whole day,
Think of – Sweet Annabelly
As Strawberry Jelly,'
and Traci MacGillivray added her name and sent the e-mail via the Revenue's Intranet to her sister-in-law and deputy, Annabelle MacGillivray (nee Arbuthnot) whose own office was just across the corridor and it was just a few seconds later that she heard a Whoop and gurgling laugh which told her it had been received and appreciated and just a few minutes passed before there was a knock at her door, a polite wait for to call “enter,” and Annabelle's head, topped by flame-red hair appeared,
 
followed by the rest of her, indeed wearing a 'Titanic – Accident or Conspiracy?' tee-shirt, filled the doorway, carrying two mugs of coffee and a large bowl with quivering strawberry jelly and two spoons - “Annabelle, you know me so Well,” said Traci, rising to kiss her and relieve her of the bowl and one of the mugs.