all too many. The end? Say it with fondest to the ethur: In the wake of their maidens and spitting their heads as if for a few ones more just to show for ourselves, tare it or who can doubt it? — the windows closed, the blackout making the colleenbawl, to ear the passon in the blowne and studding cowshots over the cark in his blisters was telling him now, dear- mate ashore, so, so compleasely till I tell you, with the