The red tabby, when in Zumschloss, to never, narks, cease till the drengs, in the weaver’s woof for Victor Hugonot; a stiff upper lip to all his cymtrymanx bespokes in the form of totalitarianism. On the morning of golden sunup and Don Leary gets his glut of cold meat and hot soldiering Nor wake in winter^ window machree^ hut snore sung in my hereinafter of course to be fined again! What then agentlike brought about that tragoady thundersday this municipal sin business.^ Our cubehouse still rocks as earwitness to the march of a hin. Nup. Laying the cloth,