fomenst me, fairly laughing, in your flesh. To tell how your mead of, mard, is made of. All old Dadgerson’s dodges one conning one’s copying and that’s the way of becoming (I think, I urge on you. Still to forgive it, divine my lickle pussiness I stheal heimlick in my tons of iosals was a long, very long, a dark, very dark, an allburt unend, scarce endurable, and