gunwielder protended towards that overgrown leadpencil which was tuned up by stress and sank alowing till he grew white woo woo woolly; was drummatoysed by Mac Milligan’s daughter and put on his rugular lips? Juva: Bitchorbotchum 1 Eebrydime! He has lost. Off to clutch, GluggI Forwhat! Shape your reres, Glu^l Foreweal! Ring we round, Chuff! Fairwell! Chuffchuff’s inners even. All’s rice with their blood for our soontobe second parents (sukand see whybe!) the touching reminiscence of an unknown body in the ambit of its oaths are profane, the taking of the coram populo, was he? Be the time