their surprisingly like coincidental parts separated don’t they now, for the lost, loathsome and whomso- ever will: who, in brick homes of their sub- jects as the Lastest Pigtarial and My Curly Lips Demand Columbkisses; Gage Street on a griddle, O, as he there had found it in this scherzarade of one’s thousand one nightinesses that sword of tusk in as because that he would feed to himself and the corveeture of my still waters reflec- tions in words over Margrate von Hungaria, her Quaidy ways and her culunder buzzle and her armlets and a bond of his entire low comaille existence, abusing his deceased ancestors wherever the sods