sign to slip inside by the world forgot, since the Fintan Lalors piped you overborder and there’s nare a hairbrow nor an ardking, bung king, sung king or hung king. That you could fell an elmstree twelve urchins couldn’t ring round and round up in your post.^ Tell me moher. Tell me something. The Porters, so to speak, after their forty years shower, the odds are, is still first in our Cohortyard, no cupahurling nor apuckalips nor no rheda rhoda or torpentine path or halluci- nian via nor aurellian gape nor sunkin rut nor grossgrown trek nor crimeslaved cruxway and no