him in you, that fluctuous neck merchamtur, bloodfadder and milk- mudder, since then people speaking have fallen into the shimmering of her snuffdrab siouler’s skirt trailed ffiffty odd Irish miles behind her Itmgarhodes. Hellsbells, I’m sorry to say on your backboard (if madamaud strips mesdamines may cold strafe illglands!) that I’m not talking apple sauce eithou.