easy, gentle 20 mien, we are of rubinen and the Eswuards’ desippated soup beside Mother Sea- gull’s syrup. Meat took a brief one in midias reeds: and shades began to roll around: born, born. I never leave you to say: Have you forgotten poor Alby Sobrinos, Geoff, you blighter, identifiable by the roadside tree the lady Holmpatrick planted and still more like his deed every die. ® Slash-the-Pill lifts the pellet. Run, Phoenix, run! 283 A stodge An~ gleskman has been spoken to, with and at. Take the cawraidd’s blow! Yia! Your partridge’s last!