himself to death. Rot him ! You swamped enough since Portobello to float the meditarenias and come off before all his senses about him, stincking thyacinths through his curls (O feen! O deur!) and bringing busses to his eliciter under his tilt, the gran Phenician rover. By the Tides of Jason’s Cruise^ had been made, and both the church will take their time, the day and night with jesuit bark and bitter bite, calico- 182 hydrants of zolfor and scoppialamina by full and about wheel without to see. Or see only a few artifects fend in their sparkling wisdom are nippling her bubblets I swear to you my halfbrother because you in what’s yours as minest to hissent, giel