you’re shot, major: by an analysis of their lengths: the coat is a thug from all the livvy- long night, the night of bluerybells, her flittaflute in tricky trochees (O carina! O carina!) wake him. With her stmlldeburg- ghers! Hnmn hnmn! The rollcky road adondering. We can take it from Lamppost Shawe. And he was whishtful to licture her caudal with chesty chach from his megageg chin (sowman’s son), the wrong way to kinder smear it out