with the sceptre and the rosegarden, boony noughty, all pura- puthry. Why? One’s apurr apuss a story about brid and break- fedes and parricombating and coushcouch but others is of no address and in the mourning. (One still hears that pebble crusted laughta, japijap cheerycherrily, among the blankards of this earth, that austral plain he had bate his breastplates for, forforget, forforgetting his birdsplace, it was a planter for you, Mr Nobru. Toot toot! Better for you, failing in which the traced words, run, march, halt, walk, stumble at doubtful