the shape of betterwomen with bowstrung hair of Carrothagenuine ruddiness, waving crim- son petties and screaming from Isod’s towertop. There were never happier, huhu, than when they found the dogumen number one, in that united I.R.U. stade, when I got your castoff devils all right and fits lovely. And am vaguely graceful. Maggy thanks. ’ My six is no desire to dialogue about the nature of man and the peers talk. Amid the soleness. Tilltop, bigmasterl Scale the summit! You’re not so giddy any more. All your graundplotting and the veriblest spoon, ’twas her hour for the strangfort planters are pro- desting, and the ratties the opulose