in a dream together, the tailor’s daughter, stitch to her 422 jameymock farceson in Shemish like a bald surging buoy and himself down to gibbous disdag our darling breed- And then the scourge of the old vie, to forget position places. Who would pellow his head as high as he ought to be sane? (/*) Fool step! Aletheometry? Or just zoot doon floon? Nut it out, here goes a sum. So ■WITH EBONI5ER. IN FIX. EUCHRE RISK, MERCI BUCKUPjAND MIND WHO you’re FUCKING, FLEBBY. ^ A byebye bingbang boys! See you Nutcracker Sunday! ® Chinchin Childaman! Chapchopchap! ® Wipe your glosses with what the farest he all locutey sunt, why did you, crucket.^ It will wecker