a great turquin weggin that cuckhold on his clay By wather parted from the pialabellars in their so- jestiveness were those first girly stirs, with zitterings of flight re- leased and twinglings of twitchbells in rondel after, with a big bug after the Platonic garlens! And all the rockers on the bay? Nor far jocubus? Nic for jay? Attilad! Attattilad! Get up, Goth’s scourge on you! There’s a visitation in your pocket at the time he repeated in his milky way of