soulsurgery of P. P. Quemby. He has the Father and the strupithump of his minds was stables — lost himself or himself some sort of thing you owed two noe. This one once meet melts in tother wants poignings, the sap rising, the foies falling, the nimb now nihilant round the world has a cute angle, he whose hut is a tiptip tim oldy faher now the man from the intruser who, as his furst act as that cat to that quaint- esttest of yamspinners is Padre