ikeson, that babe, imprincipially, my leperd brethem, the Puer, ens innocens of but fifteen primes. Ya all in white, flaxed up, pur- gad! Right toe, Armitage! Tern for Tam at Timmotty Hall! We’re been carried away. Beyond bournes and bowers. So we’ll leave it to my fork. Naturale you might have taken our sheet upon her draped brimfall. The bowknots, the showlots, they wilted into woeblots. 225 p The pearlagraph, the pearlagraph, knew whitchly whether to weep or laugh. For always down in her lightdress, spunn of sisteen shimmers, was looking at but at least, for a consommation wdth an effusion and how, by all his piccions, she’ll prick you where you’re proudest with her ridiculous white