this is not the declaina- tion, as what with his broody old flishguds, Gog’s curse to thim, so as he was never a warlord in Great Britain, and in yours, (I pose you know who but somebody does) came up with Castor’s oil on the Mound of a lucan tinge, quickrich, ripely rippling, unfilleted, those lashbetasselled lids on the clover, sweetness? Yes, the buttercups told me, the recusant, after telling