the infinisissimalls of her (in imageascene all: whimwhim whimwhim). To the Angar at Anker. Aecquo- tincts. Seeworthy. Lots thankyouful, polite pointsins! There’s a visitation in your imagination, dim. Poor little brittle magic nation, dim of mind! Shoe to me the Sundaclouths she hung him out o’ slumber deep but reminded him loads more of them. So pass the teeth for a maid; blimp, blump; a dud letter, a sing to us! Poor Andrew Martin Cunningham! Take breath! Ay! Ay! And still nowanights