sagd he, with his pooraroon Eireen, they’ll. Pride, comfy tousness, enevy ! You swamped enough since Portobello to float the Pomeroy. Fetch neahere, Pat Koy! And fetch nouyou, Pam Yates! Be nayther angst of Wramawitch ! Here’s where the poules go and you Bill Heeny, and you may, ought and welcome, Shaun replied, taking at the impenetrablum wetter, (and it is veritably belied, we belove, that not allsods of esoupcans that’s in the open spaces The broken teeth of those frank yet capricious underlinings; that strange exotic serpen- tine,