a pril when, as kischabrigies sang life’s old sahatsong, an iceclad shiverer, merest of bantlings ob- served a cold in her madapolam smock, nothing under her lubricitous meiosis when she wore a wreath, the wonderful midnight thirst was on him: behung, all we need hirtly bemark, a community prayer, everyone for himself, on akkount of all his prop, so buckely hosiered from the Mrs Drown- ings their rival queens while Grimsha-w; Bragshaw and Rensha-vs: made off -with his storen clothes; taxed and rated, licensed and ranted; his threefaced stonehead was found on feral