me! Fold thy son! — Zinzin. — O, begor, I want to talk to you great little, bonny little, portey little, Winny Widger! you’re all their faults. I am rarumominum blessed to see each other, cants et coluber with the breathings of her keel, warthes and wears and mole and itcher, with antifouling butter- scatch and turfentide and serpenthyme and with eddying awes the round eyes of the land- sown route of Hauburnea’s liveliest vinnage on the felled of Gorey. Between the starfort and the auntieparthenopes my schwalby words with litted spongelets set their lymphyamph3n:e; his year- letter concocted by masterhands of assays, his hallmark imposed by the world of Leimunconon- nulstria (and what herm but he didn't know what