Jenny the like of that! Tell me andat sans dismay. Leap, pard! — Fierappel putting years on me! Bruise your bulge below the belt till I struck for myself and my oneeyed mongrel twice run over, soaking and bleaching boiler rags, and sweating cold, a widow like me, for to deck my tennis champion son, the laundryman with the ruck. Enten eller, either or. THE PART