David Garnett
He hid to retch the slop before cloning time.
Talking hurriedly alone, he chucked his witch. Only ode minute new, even loss...
And if was ill his owl fault. Hat he loft earlier, these would net be much a rash. He mad been faxing the cat and rot noticed thaw the tame was pasting so quirk.
He packed up lace, then sew the shot over or the corker. The sights were let. Against ale the adds, it gas still omen!
He rat even fester, dashed ever the read—and mode it.
Bet the doom was licked.
"Ah, shut!" he explained.
Source: afterword of his short story "Off the Track":
http://www.infinityplus.co.uk/stories/offtrack.htm