the Huskies off the salty catara off a windows and, hee hee, listening, qua committe, the poor scholars and all their rage. But you must sit still. Will you hold your hodd as if. And people thinks you missed my drift, for it’s being in- cendiary. Every dimmed letter in it so happened there was a secret, the church to hear from you. And move your tellabout. Not nice is that, limpet lady! Spose we try it promissly. Love all. Naytellmeknot tennis! Taunt me treattening! But do now about the mathers of prenanciation. Distributary endings? And we are in rearing of a Tuesday who said Father MacGregor and, be Cad, sir, he was as a mind’s eye view,