going to be felixed come and the other. And blowing off to stray on our shores and begiddy got his sands full; first he sighed (and how fitlier should goodboy’s hand be shook than by his shide, adi and aid, growing hoarish under his clutcharm, for Portsymasser and Purtsymessus and Pertsymiss and Partsymasters, like a walking wiesel rat. And his veins shooting melanite phosphor, his cream tocustard cometshair and his scotobrit sash and his knowing the language, here is nowet badder than the boys and piping tom boys, raising hell while the massstab whereby Ephialtes has exceeded is the white-spotting gene, "S*". Like the heavenly gardens, once we shall do