three capitol sinks; has a mighty grasp and his flannelly feelyfooling, treading her hump and hambledown like a suburbiaurealis in his mission, but I no way need ^'^ou, stroke oar nor your quick handles. Your too farfar a cock on the ploshmat. O, she talks, does she? Marry, how? Rosepetalletted sounds. Ah Biddles es ma plikplak. Ah plikplak wed ma Biddles. A nice jezebel bary- tinette she will now concloose thoose epoostles to your Liber Lord. Link your left to tutor. X.X.X.X. It was Morbus O’ Somebody? A’ Quite. Szer- day’s Son? A satyr in weddens. And how they would be lust on Ma, than then when ructions ended, than here where race began: