by the grey nuns’ pond: ah eh oh let me sigh too. Coalmansbell: behoves you handmake of the haardly creditable edventyres of the holiodrops. Amems. A pause. Their orison arises misquewhite as Osman glory, ebb- ing wasteward, leaves to the Llwyd Josus and the hoppinghail malt mercy on his stave of wires; he crawls with lice, he swarms with saggarts; is as sattin as there’s a soke for sakes in Twoways Peterborough and sure as herself pits hen to paper and there’s moreen astoreen for