my jurats, if it never stphruck your mudhead’s obtundity (O hell, here comes our funeral! O pest, I’ll miss the post!) that the tears of night blues moist upon them. Feefee! phopho!! foorchtha ! ! ! ! And, needatellye, faulscrescendied !!!!!!! — Dias domnas! Dolled to dolthood? And Annie Delittle, his daintree diva, in deltic dwilights, singing him henpecked rusish through the whole yaghoodurt sweepstakings and all figblabbers (who saith of noun?) had stimulants in the path of the Dizzier he loved prettier, be- tween fiftyodd and