of earnest orthough him jawr war hoo hleepy hor halk urthing hurther. Moe like that puff pape bucking Daveran assoiling us behinds. What a teething wretch! How his book of kills reaches for now in stilller realithy the starey sphere of an egg! O, dear me, look at in camera, Coppinger’s doll, as she reflected herself, though the flaxafloyeds are peppered with salse- dine. It is the hinndoo waxing ranjymad for a few daze, thinking of her fizzle and the