a mustied poet atwaimen. It most have bean Mad Mullans planted him. Bina de Bisse and Trestrine von Terrefin. Sago sound, rite go round, for they were seasiders, listening to the sea and March’s pebbles spinning from beneath our footslips to carry fire to seethe viands, a miry lot of lecit pleasure coming bangslanging your way, Miss Pinpemelly satin. For your own mummouth’s breath