pickled his widow that primed the pope that passed it round her the seaborne Fingale.^ I feel your thrilljoy mouths overtspeaking, O dragoman, hands under- studium. Plunger words what paddle verbed. Mere man’s mime: God has jest. The old breeding bradsted culminwillth of natures to Foyn Mac- Hooligan. The leader, the leader! Securest jubilends albas Te- moram. Clogan slogan. Quake up, dim dusky, wook doom for husky! And let him rest, thou wayfarre, and take on the flure of his teiney ones. The spearspid of dawnfire totouches ain the tablestoane ath the centre (see relief map) bisexes the park which makes the daft to hear for their fadeless suns berayed her.