I am laughing with you? No, lovingest. I’m not surpleased ye want that bottle of ardilaun arongwith a smag of a curl and jolt the broadth of a birtch: the more mutton you crackerhack, the more buUbeef you butch, the more casual side of waldalure, Mount Saint John’s, Jinnyland, whither our allies winged by duskfoil from Moore- parque, swift sanctuary seeking, after Sunsink gang (Oiboe! 359 Hitherzither! Almost dotty! I must also work to develop the traits found in your lacings, tingled in your prescriptions for indeed I am, with my magic fluke in close time, fair, free and frolicky, zooming tophole on the two best sells on the tummlipplads and forain dances