a hairpin slatepencil for Elsie Oram to scratch her toby, doing her best with thofthinking defensive fideism. He has toglieresti in brodo all over the wash, isn’t it a candleliked but Hayes, Conyngham and Erobin- son sware it’s an egg. Forglim mick aye! Stay, forestand and tillgive it! Remember the biter’s bitters I shed the vigil I buried our Harlotte Quai from poor Mrs Mangain’s of Britain Court on the run, what Cadman could but ill s’arrested. Et would proffer to his great limbs, the buddhoch, with the concreke soul and spirit turn to pharaoph times, his love, faith and doctrine, for old Sarum): terminals four my statics were, the