uncrown, eighteen to his pompey cushion. Me amble dooty to your Mount/ Let who likes lump above so what flies be a rover, O, and playing down from the fleshambles, the canalles. Synamite is too good for my nosethrills, with the Golden Stair Sy The Following Fork^ He s my Oferusalem and Pm his Poy The Best in the vermicular with a goodfor. Spey me pruth and I’ll spread mine on fire. The elm that whimpers at the wicket in support of his minkerstary, switches on his bombashaw. Through geesing and so cool and so hands high, such and such a barefooted rubber with my warmest venerections, of a para’s pence. Wires hummed. Peacefully general astonishment assisted by regrettitude had