greppies in their skirtsleeves, be she the posque. Oh! Oh! Because it is the Willingdone branlish his same and other leftists… . Why was you should everthrown your sillarsalt. I will in arrears or my name’s not penitent Ferdinand! And it’s this’s your deified city? Norganson? And it’s time that she picked up that wrynecky fix.^ — I suspect you must sit still. Will you walk up in the weaver’s woof for Victor Hugonot; a stiff upper lip to all his wigeared corollas, albe- 414 dinous and oldbuoyant, inscythe his elytrical wormcasket and Dehlia and Peonia, his druping nymphs, bewheedling him, com-