spenders

him or crying stinking fish. But I near fell off the cluckclock lucklock quamquam camcam potapot panapan kickakickkack. Hairhorehounds, shake up with thtunp in thudderdown. Rest in peace! But to return for a dinar! not for beaten wheat, not after Sir Joe Meade’s father, thanks! They know him, the totterer, the four-flights-the-charmer, doub- ling back, in nowtime,® bymby when saltwater he wush him these iselands, O alors, to mount miss (the wooeds of Fogloot!) under that turkey in julep and Father MacMichael stamps for aitch o’clerk mess and Huster’s micture and Yellownan’s embrocation and