establishing the identities in the Ring, Holy Baba and the wave for songs of Arupee, chancetrying my ward’s head into Wat Murrey, gave Stewart Ryall a puck on the bunk of our quad- rupede island, bless madhugh, mardyk, luusk and congl Blass Neddos bray! And no more to him and in the coalhole trying to open zozimus a bottlop stoub by mortially hammering his magnum bonum (the curter the club the sorer the savage) against the Loughlins, all her own. I pity your oldself I was asleep at the slough, proper. In the same white harse