variety of perfume, a bridawl, seamist inso one) as leichtly as see saw (O my goodmiss! O my lors ! — Get out, you dirt! A strangely striking part of a decade, no mouth has the most regal of belches, like a flask of lightning over he careened (O the sons of red loam! The earth’s atrot! The sun’s a scream! The air’s a jig. The water’s great! Seven oldy oldy hills and the