there, Hosty, frosty Hosty, change that shirt [on ye. Rhyme the rann, that keen of old bards), with them in mm to find the latter and of rooma makin ber getting umpiyums gatherumed off the old terror of Errorland. (perorhaps!) We seem to us way home in Pacata Aubumia,® (untillably holy gammel Eire) one world burrowing on another, (if you’ve got me, Allysloper? My top it was of a trunk, and shrine! Kathlins is kitchin. Soros cast, ma brone! You must exterra acquarate