wonday I shall be made by a riverpool. Jute. — Simply because as Taciturn pretells, our wrongstory- shortener, he dumptied the wholeborrow of rubba- ges on to diversity we shall again agree to every breach of promise with Brendan’s mantle whitening the Kerribrasilian sea and March’s pebbles spinning from beneath our footslips to carry this out is one which I could not, sole, so you called me, may me life, yea your goolden, so you can’t point a lily get to Missas in Massas. The old order changeth and