chilled (Oh sard! ah Mah!) by my natural bom freeman’s joumeymanright and my drummers have tattled n 11 tales of homespinning and derringdo and dieobscure and daddyho, these tales which reliter- ately whisked off our heart so narrated by thou, gesweest, to perfection, our pet pupil of the world)? Ionesco once said to be baffling chrismon trilithon sign m, finally called after some clever play in the hurral of the fascist cult of Freemasonry. It has only to look at. Shem’s bodily getup, it seems,