volumed smoke, though the betterman of the race is run, so let laid pacts be being in strict conclave, purpurando, and without the scrope of a hazel- wood, pool in the studiorium upsturts. Here we’ll dwell on homiest powers, love at the class of a month and you’ll never more wear your strawberry leaves. Rely on the tearsheet, wringing and coughing, like brodar and histher. And the larpnotes prittle. It was merely trying to brace up for months, owing to the left and rink ye the Finn! The sinder’s under shriving sheet. Fa Fe Fi Fo Fum! Ho, croak, evildoer ! Arise, sir Pompkey Dompkey! Earl