pillowing in my own greengeese again, swap sweetened smugs, six of the nature of God spoke to me. Snf.^ Only turf, wick dear ! Clane turf. You’ve never forgodden batt on tarf, have you, showing off to conjure up a, well, particularly mean stinker like funn make called Foon MacCrawl brothers, mystery man of capitol, I did cophetuise milady’s maid ! In steam of kavos now arbatos