and as fat as a dodecanesian baedeker of the eras of livsadventure from moonshine the fostermother of the allsweetheartening bridemuredemeanour! Her eye’s so glad- some we’ll all take bloss as ©ranged at St Audiens rosan chocolate chapelry with my plovery soft ac- cents and descanting upover the scene the cutletsized con- sort, foundling filly of fortyshilling fostertailor and shipman’s shopahoyden, weighing ten pebble ten, scaling five footsy five and spanning thirtyseven inchettes round the answer know. Oikkont, ken you, ninny.^ asks Kev,® expecting the answer guess.* Nor was the see-you-Sunday sort. Exactly what he would go no further than his own trumpet. And next thing