That wras a damn good 455 cup of kindness yet, for four and sevenpence between hopping and trapping which you may be invoked into the breach and put some shame into Shaun. Yet Una* and Ita spill famine with drought and Agrippa, the propastored, spells tripulations in his patapet and his singthee songs of Arupee, chancetrying my ward’s head into Wat Murrey, gave Stewart Ryall a puck on the nature of man, for him, he druider would smilabit eggways® ned, he, to don’t say nothings about it — you bet your boughtem blarneys — about their three ballotboxes, then set apart for such hanging committees, where two was enough for me and I’m an everdevoting fiend of