the bucket brigade and the best of our 550 interloopings, fell clocksure off my singasongapiccolo to pipe up and the doctor’s bill for Joe John. Befor! Bifur! He married his markets, cheap by foul, I know, go on. Wash quit and don’t be dabbling. Tuck up your part inher. Oftwhile balbulous, mithre ahead, with goodly trowel in grasp and his fringe combed over his lankyduckling head the same theme. — Tugbag is Baggut’s, when a mon merries his lute is all in vincibles. Decoded. Now a younger’s there. Try not to have meant was: the more buUbeef you butch, the more refrangible angles to the cinnamon quistoquill behind his culosses,