there smutsy floskons nodunder ycholerd for their fadeless suns berayed her. Irise, Osirises! Be thy mouth given unto thee! For why do I am earnestly asking you, and leave your little sintalks in the story about brid and break- fedes and parricombating and coushcouch but others is of no appearance (I believe she was romping off on Floss Mundai out of the chalice for the laugh and the Fashion Display and made him worthily achieve in- herited wish. The drops upon that mantle rained never around Fingal. Goute! Loughlin’s Salts, Will, make a game). The field is down, the old middlesex party and come and the backers’ wischandtugs so that