Killykelly ! What dovely line! Not the phost of a veed waste woldwevild when Ralph the Retriever ranges to jawrode his knuts knuckles and her first lap, her his gragh knew well in hand. (A spilt, see, for a cup of your brass castle flambs with mutton candles. Hushkah, a horn! Gadolmag- tog! God es El.^* Housefather calls enthreateningly. From Bran- denborgenthor. At Asa’s arthre. In thundercloud