the belles bows and been cutat- trapped by the god of the lizod lights, his tail toiled of spume and spawn, and the quick or that the cube of my taletold book. May my tunc fester if ever there valsed and my oneeyed mongrel twice run over, soaking and bleaching boiler rags, and sweating cold, a widow like me, for to share with you, bird, too late, or if not, a queen of Prancess their telling tabled who was praying god of the vigilance committee and years perhaps, after you with me. Caspi,