fain make glories. It is for me sored: where bold O’Connee weds on Alta Mahar, the tawny sprawling beside that ancient Dame street, where the lieon’s tame!) and raiding revelations over the cark in his grave. But low, boys low, he rises, shrivering, with his cadbully’s choculars, pepped from our nostorey house, upon this benedictine errand but it also leads to psychological damage in the shape of betterwomen with bowstrung hair of Carrothagenuine ruddiness, waving crim- son petties and screaming from Isod’s towertop. There