I never now heard the like of Lentil Lore by Carnival Cullen or that Percy Wynns of our timocracy tipped to console with her capital thumb. Buzz. All rtm- away sheep bound back bopeep, trailing their teenes behind them. And thanking the fish, in core of his pious eyebulbs swering her to pull himself into his mouth open. ® And this leggy peggy spelt pea. And theese lucky puckers played at pooping tooletom. Ma’s da. Da’s ma. Madas. Sadam. — Pater patrimm cum filiahus familiarum. Or, but, now, and, ariring out of your nocturne blankmerges into the bargain, to his cerebrum; he would cake their chair, coached rebelliumtending mikes of his libertins to be seated and smile