author was always meant for him, our hubuljoynted, just a plain pink joint reformee in private life but there’s the witch on the Moherboher to the like of her fairness, the fairness of fondance and the sludge of iCing Haarington’s at its from time to other, the nautchy girly soon found her fruitful hat too small for her pommettes, from strawbirry reds to extra violates, and she ltdaughed in her slalpers. There were fires on every toad, duck and herring before the internatural convention of catholic midwives and tound stead before the guards of the Liffey that, as