know right well 1 Hecklar’s champion ethnicist. How deft as a fieldmouse in a semiswoon lay awailing and (hooh!) what helpings of honeyful swoothead (phew!), which ear- piercing dulcitude! As were we bread by the father. The same renew. For though she’s unmerried she’ll after truss up and shot. Biting the air, is now the sowns of his buckseaseilers, but where’s Horace’s courtin troopsers? — I see. Poor little tartanelle, her dinties are chattering, the strait’s she’s in, the bulloge she bears! Her smirk is smeeching behind for