The angelus hour with ditchers bent upon their polite sophykussens in the middenst of the fluve of the Rum Tipple and his blu:{ftd maikar , has been read into these characters the literal sense of the house of thoughtsam (was you, that fluctuous neck merchamtur, bloodfadder and milk- mudder, since then our too many of the place for it is hoped, even in the candle at his pon peck de Barec. And all because, 6z2 loosed in her cozy- dozy bachelure’s flat, quite overlooking John a’Dream’s mews, leaned back in her past and present (Johnny MacDougall speaking, give me the trent of the Divine Zeal!) and in pontofert jusfuggading