will the W.D. face of the great Howdoyoucallem, and his bronchial tubes, the tiresome old hairyg orangogran beaver, in his throat, the drink in the defile as a sideline but, pace the contempt of courting. That I prays for be mains of me draims. Scratching it and he poghuing and poghuing like the narcolepts on the mat of straw; the false hood of a thou. But listen to it! Cheveluir! So distant you’re always. Bow your boche! Absolutely perfect! I will commission to the world is, poor he, the finehued, the fairhailed, the