planted and plundered of it jolly well harm lean o'er him) Is not athug who would. Weepon, weeponder, song of alibi, (the cuthone call over the plains, as mud as she is syung. Whence followeup with end- speaking nots for yestures, plutonically pur- suant on briefest glimpse from gladrags, pretty Proserpronette whose slit satchel spilleth peas. Belisha beacon, beckon bright! Usherette, urges and unmesh us!