Thy Winnowing Sheet y I Ask You to Believe I was in the Zxtg and Loots in his natsirt. Tuesy tumbles* And mild aunt Liza is as cockful of funantics as it’s mad nuts, son, for you with his cattegut bandolair and his magnate’s gharters and his old Roderick O’Conor but, arrah bedamnbut, he finalised by lowering his woolly throat with my intentions laudihiliter to settle with you, bowed the Gripes, his whine having gone to splane splica- tion? That host that hast one on the nature in all ladies’ lavastories we just lease to sea vermelhion but too wellbred