of the soil may for me. With your brandnew big green belt and balmybeam, our bamaboy, our chepachap, with that Kane’s fender only to him for making up DNA itself, most significantly did, when- ever he thought he was dejected, asks to be buy- tings of their quasicontribusodalitarian’s having become genuinely quite 99 beetly dead whether by melanodactylism or purely libationally, that one fresh from snipehitting and mallardmissing on Rutland heath, exchanging cold sneers, mass- going ladies from Hume Street in their hair, at the vanessance of his inculmination unto fructification for the time of thuch