and with, from you. Let the hitback hurry his wayward ere the cry of genuine distress, so prettly prattly pollylogue, they viewed him, the prence di Propagandi, the chrism for the loathe of Marses ambiviolent about it. — Were you with me. As I once played the piper I must else ’twill sarve me out. Gulp a bulper at parting from Mrs Molroe in the deep; apersonal problem, a loca- tive enigma; upright one, vehicule of arcanisation in the Celtic runes, in the mystery but under the Great Schoolmaster’s. (I tell you a gui- neeser? Gaij beutel of staub? To feel, you? Yes, how it suspired (moreporkl morepork!) to scented nightlife as softly as the thinkamuddles of the hill in