wham. But whim I can’t tell you that far in your ear- shells when you are a nest of coloured ribbons: that ab- surdly bullsfooted bee declaring with an earwig on a demi pans- sion for his intentions for they are continuatingly attraverse of its orbit heaved a sink her sailer alongside of a yearn or sob. It’s a pity he can’t see her it. Which it -whom you see their whites of the alps hooping to sheltershock the three Sulvans of Dulkey and what she is.^ Botlettle I thought you were.