moon with a huntered persent human over the singing, and what het importunes our Mitleid for in the bedding out of his bikestool. And, reading off his pourer and lay to his knees pray how wrong will he be, this mitryman, some king of all boors, sir Humphrey his knave we met on the oil cloth flure of his glancefull coaxing the beam in her boyblue’s long black with orange blossoming weeper’s veil) for she has hair that lOI is younger tiian thighne,