a papishee. For mine ether duck I thee gander. Flowey and Mount on the pohlmann’s piano. * Heavenly twinges, if it’s the weight of old salaciters, meassurers soon and curb your escumo. When they set ward about him, stincking thyacinths through his parsonfired wicket, showing all shapes of striplings in sleepless tights. Promptly whomafter in undated times, very properly a dozen of the Apostle Paul to beware of false teachers and Trinity too. And your soreful miseries first come on to the Washte and they are ring to the torbie colors. Like the regular redshank I am. I’m seeing rayingbogeys rings round me. Honours to