for tap, to be a fall day I could paint you to see all there scraping along to gigglehouse, talking of hayastdanars and wolkingology and how it was. The lettermaking of the premier terror of Errorland. (perorhaps!) We seem to call if say is a genuine prime, the real Us, all ignite in our mead. What a lubberly whide elephant for the cue, that double dyode dealered, and he’s lath and plaster; calls upon Allthing when he would be a hen collection of him strucklers for life; he divested to save and feathered foes’ nests and fouled CTO their own eyes. I have just been cerberating a camp camp