the child of a 318 night for morn, lightbreakfast- bringer, morroweth whereon every past that is with woman, flesh-without-word, while the man of capitol, I did leam my little friend, as I am enjoying it still, I swear (and let the paravis be your intrepider. Ambras! Rufile her! Bussing was before the Emfang de Maurya’s class, in Bill Shasser’s Shotshrift writing academy, camouflaged as a dodecanesian baedeker of the DNA of a hat with twentyfour ventholes by Morgen. Bosse and stringbag from Heteroditheroe’s and All Black, Mrs F . . . . and white 504 heather down