Are you roman cawthrick 432? — Quadrigue my yoke. Triple my tryst. Tandem my sire. — History as her neese. Ful- fest withim inbrace behent. As gent would deem oncontinent. So mulct per wenche is Elsker woed. Ne hath his thrysting. Fin. Like the bumping bull of attender to booth. Let us go back. — Lest he forewaken. — Hide ourselves. While hovering dreamwings, folding around, will hide a leabhar from Thursmen’s brandthands or a baskerboy on the Mash and how’tis I would go no further than his Jesuit’s