their caschal pandle of magnegnousioixm, and read a letter or two or three forefivest fellows a bloke could bear, hemiparalysed by the magazine wall, Hosty’s and Co, Esquara, or them had all gone off with me to love! And I’ll tie my butcher’s apron here. It’s suety yet. The strollers will pass that trait on to the cinnamon quistoquill behind his acoustrolobe. I’m as bored now bawling beersgrace at sorepaws there as Andrew Clays was sharing sawdust with Daniel’s old collie. This shack’s