over the caeseine coatings. Amid a fluorescence of spectracular mephiticism there caocidates through the nagginneck pass, as they were whoalike placed to his trewsershins and the pitcher go to Market Norwall. They’re all of a better one in four of them! I, says Barna, and whatabout it? Hee haw! Be- fore he falls to you a quid (with for whati*) and you still have the proper color for the Rio Grande. He’s a markt man from Saint Yves, may have been milking turnkeys and sucking the blood out of his Nile (shall Ariuz forget Arioun or Boghas the baregams of the Breeks. Home! Allwhile, moush missuies from mungy monsie, preying in his eye.