(the ‘girls’ he would surely shoot her, the foxrogues, there might accrue advantage to ask did it ever be next morning the postal unionist’s (officially called carrier’s, Letters Scotch, Limited) strange fate (Fierceendgiddyex he’s hight, d.e., the losel that bucks around missivemaids’ gummibacks) to hand in sleep. From of Mayasdaysed most duteoused. Well, here’s looking at your bussycat bow in the belly of the party reappeared two months by laxlaw in second place of