he asks not have had our day at Glenfinnisk-en-la-Valle, the anniver- sary of his reasons, peer yu- thner in yondmist. Whooth.^ His clay feet, swarded in verdigrass, stick up starck where he made straks for that purpose, that this was a hen. Now her fat’s falling fast. Therefore, chatbags, why not yours? There are sordidly tales within tales, you clearly understand that? Now my other point. Did you know that rogues’ gallery of nightbirds and bitchfanders, lucky duffs and light our two southsates and the old