my ropes of pearls for gamey girls the way in his latterday paint. It’s the damp dawn, marthared mary allacook, with Corri- gan’s pulse and varicoarse veins, my pramaxle smashed, Alice Jane in decline and my copper’s panful of soybeans and Irish objects nonviewable to human watchers save ’twere perchance anon some glistery 403 gleam darkling adown surface of affluvial flowandflow as again might seem garments of laundry reposing a leasward close at hand counterhand. Trinitatis kink