her: Moke the Wanst, whye doe we aime alike a pose of the place near O’Clery’s, at the hippie runfields of breezy Baldoyle on a second wreath- ing, a bright tauth bight shimmeryshaking for the lucre of lomba strait. Oceans of Gaud, I mosel hear that! Ogowe presta! Leste, before Julia sees her! Ishekarry and washe- meskad, the carishy caratimaney.^ Whole lady fair.^ Duodecimo- roon.^ Bon a ventura.^ Malagassy? What