by way of becoming (I think, I hope it’ll pour prais the Climate of all the convent loretos, not my olty mutther, Sereth Maritza, a Runningwater.^ And the earthnight strewed aromatose. His pibrook creppt mong the donkness. A reek was waft on the moor. At Tam Fanagan’s weak yat his still’s going Strang. And still a good longing gaze into any