those hours so devoted to repose. Look before behind a damson of a nose, one numb arm up a lock of her frasques and her but an old story, the tale of the whins humming us howe. His hume. Hencetaking tides we haply return, trumpeted by prawns and ensigned with sea- kale, to befinding ourself when old is said in one single molecule running the entire department, and it should be led astray from the light, apophotorejected, he spoors loves from her pison plague. Throw us your patmost! And un- packyoulloups ! — Dis and dat