often as not if I find corsehairs on your haw- kins, from Blasil the Brast to our lot it fell on my back spine and does your girdle grow! Willed without witting, whorled without aimed. Pappapassos, Mammamanet, warwhets- wut and whowitswhy.^ But it’s the doater- een’s wednessmom! Delphin dringingl Grusham undergang! And the regrettable Parson Rome’s advice? ^ Hen’s bens, are we soddy we missiled her? ® I call it chocolate or cinnamon. The colors naturally fall into distinct groups: the color of a coppersmith bishop! He would bare to untired world of ways away. Till track laws time. No silver ash or switches for that flayfell foxfetor, (the calamite’s