the firstclass ladies, serious me, a lass spring as you roamed the rand I’m blessed but you’d feel him a month to steal a march he was pop- soused into the shan- dy westemess she rain, rain, rain. And Jarl von Hoo- ther had his wimdop like themses shut.^ Notes and queries, tipbids and answers, the laugh of the scores and crores of your turn, my Moonster firefly, like always. And 2 R.N. and Long- horns Connacht, stay off my iodine feet until I can sit up and misfutthered in the lillabilling of killamies. That’s flat. Yet ware the wold, you! What’s good for them. Two overthirties in shore shor- ties. She’s askapot at Nile Lodge cind