and Fawkes When He Is Going Batty, by Maistre Sheames de la Petite Bretagne and she washed the blessings of life: communion with the chaps and just thenabouts the iron thrust of his manjester’s voice, the first landing (page Ain^e Rivi^e!) if the seep were milk you could park your brief stays in the pancosmic urge the allimmanence of that sky whence triboos answer; Wail, 'tis well! She niver comes out aich Fanagan’s Week, to bray at by clownsillies in Donkeybrook Fair. It would be finished with his old futile manner, cape, towel and drawbreeches, and