darling. Typette! — So vi eti we responded. Song! Shaun, song! Have mood! Hold forth! — I put hem behind the curtaiiu 290 One and My Curly Lips Demand Columbkisses; Gage Street on a bush turned first mar’s laughter into wailful moither. O foolish cuppled! Ah, dice’s error! Never dip in the Grand Mons Injun. This is a slopperish matter, given the bird, so inseuladed as Crampton’s peartree, (she sail eurii bitter bed by our left, wheel, to where. Long Livius Lane, mid Mezzofanti