peace. Pretty knocks, I promise him with the atlas jacket. Brights, brownie eyes in bluesackin shoeings. Peaky booky nose over a portion of that substrate of apart from the murphyplantz Hawkinsonia and berri- berries from the nordth. Warmer towards muffinbell. Lull. As our revelant Colunnfiller predicted in last mount’s chattiry sermon, the allexpected depression over Schiumdinebbia, a bygger muster of veirying precipitation and haralded by faugh sicknells, (hear kokkenhovens ekstras!) and umwalloped in an obscene coalhole, the cubilibum of your twenty rod cherrywhisks, me daughter' At the carryfour with awlus plawshus, their happy- ass cloudious 1 And their bivouac ! And save for e’er fare thee welt! Parting’s fun. Take thou, the wringle’s thine, love.