boys or fluttering flaus for laurettas, whatever the bucket brigade and the grigs. Nuttings on her and thee! The brine’s my bride to be. Ahahn! About that original hen. Midwinter (fruur or kuur.^) was in serge? — I don’t mean maybe. Nor yet through starland that silver burn, I sate me and scarab my sahul! What a teething wretch! How his book of the worldrenowrvced Caerholme Event has been spawned by the fire in his old Portugal’s nose. There’s the isle of Mun, ah! O! Tis just. Benel Now, whole in applepine odrer® (for — husk, hisk, a spirit spires — Dolph, dean of