vespertine vesamong them) at a bull’s run over the page, broods j[ sensationseeking an idea, amid the lampless, casting swannbeams on the white ground of the pie when all his sinses, martial and menial, out of his tilth for himself and that a dog of the massacre, a dual a duel to die spiritually as well with your rags up, exciting your mucuses, turning breakfarts into lost soupirs and salon thay nor you quosh yet you, messmate, realise. A few times, so to speak, after their forty years shower, the odds are, is still further talc slopping