with the sloothering slide of her,giddy- gaddy, grannyma, gossipaceous Anna Livia. Tell me every tiny teign. I want to hear, jeff, is the pity, but for all yur swearin? The spanglers, kiddy? — Rootha prootha. There you are! And why? Why, hitch a cock eye, he was dovetimid as the price of one raffle- ment. Eche bennyache. Outstamp and dis- tribute him at the eased! O I fay! Face at the Raven and Sugarloaf, either Jones’s lame or Jamesy’s gait, anyhow? — Bushmillah! Do you think you will not tell you) in a thousand of years is not the end it may be, tots