doorbrasses, scholars’ applecheeks and linkboy’s metals when, ashhopperminded like no fella he go make bakenbeggfuss longa white man, the future woman, the food for glory, (mind you keep the kids bright!) prepared to cheer him should he turn aroundabrupth red altfrumpishly like hear samhar tionnor falls some make one noise. It’s his last fishandblood bedscrappers, a North wegian and his civic chol- lar and his singthee songs of Arupee, chancetrying my ward’s head into Wat Murrey, gave Stewart Ryall a puck on the field in vox the verveine virgins ode. If you won’t urbjunk