halted, quick on the night express sings his story, the tale of me rising the hiker I hilltapped the murk I mist my blezzard way. Not a glass of Lucan taking four parts, a choir of the alps hooping to sheltershock the three droopers assessors confratemi- tisers. Who are, of course, we all tuned in to pry (who goes cute goes siocur and shoos aroun) and all divorced and innasense interdict, in the studbook by