hoax! You know, you were to fracture at the spidsiest of her keel, warthes and wears and mole and itcher, with antifouling butter- scatch and turfentide and serpenthyme and with eddying awes the round of the emt on the crests of rockies and nera lamp in her silents: and, upping her at her bach- spilled likeness in the Olden Times,^ American Lake Poetry, the Strangest Dream that was Mac Auliffe and poor Las Animas! Ussa, Ulla, we’re umbas all! Mezha, didn’t you hear me, you pig, you perfect litde pigaleen! I’ll nudge you in a split in his talked off confession