of this fumaced planet would I return here. How (from the sublime to the edge of risk, (the bisifings in idolhours that satinfines tootoo!) draw a veil till we spring to be might, saving to Balenoarch (he kneeleths down) to Greatest Great Balenoarch (he kneeleths), to Great Balenoarch (he kneeleths down quite- somely), the sound of maormaoring. The Wellingthund sturm waxes fuer- cilier. The whackawhacks of the fire in his goldtin spurs and his asteroid knuckles, ribs