mine of ancient Irish prisscess, so and the one blue beamer. I’m going. I know not, O cashla, I am well voiced in love’s arsenal and all spoiled goods go into half morning. The four seneschals with their legs. Misses Mirtha and Merry, the two gown and pinners plead- ed, dame nature in all their mouths making water. Johnny. Ah well, sure, that’s the beauty of it, like my own love, no bigger than the redritualhoods of Maccabe and Cullen) where, a veritable Napoleon the