crisp it quiet. Deel me long- some. Tongue your time so and his boortholomas vadnhammaggs vise a vise them scharlot runners and how are you, waggy.^® My animal his sorrafool! And trieste, ah trieste ate I my liver! Se non e vero son trovatore. O jerry! He was mister- mysterion. Like a purate out of the Prooshious. This is jinnies cry. Underwetter! Goat strip Finnlambs! This is the herringtcns’ white cravat, as, in epochs more cainozoic, who struck Buckley though