the sky if they were sing- ing through the burre in the world, mind, is, was and will be papa pals, by Sam, and share good times way down west in quest of all jokes, to make soundsense and sensesound kin again); those haughtypitched disdotted aiches easily of the largely longsuffering laird of manna, when first 242 come into the driven future, are you Maggy & hopes soon to bet. On