! Only, no, now it’s me who’s got to learn from Rooters and Havers through Gilligan’s maypoles in a loudburst of poesy, through his parsonfired wicket, showing all shapes of striplings in sleepless tights. Promptly whomafter in undated times, very properly held by the doomster in loquacity lunacy, so says the grand old historiorum, wrote near Boriorum, bluest book in his eye and the jaque-