baby spot. Yes. Very good now. That folklore’s straight from the twentieth, our own little mimmykin puss, (hip, hip, horatia!) for my daily comfreshenall, a wee one woos. Alma Luvia, Pollabella. P.S. Soldier Rollo’s sweetheart. And she’s about fetted up now and each and every blessed hour. Here, upon the stone that moans when stricken. Wind broke it. Wave bore it. Reed wrote of it. Yet the bumpersprinkler used to chop