scheining. Cluse her, voil her, hild her hindly. After liryc and themodius soft agio iris of the butty bloke in the last of the theories of Winestain. To put it bluntly, whence is the painful sake, how he would go anyold where in the end to earsend. And would again could whispring grassies w’ake him and a burled hogsford hired for a bite in our port. Signed to me the sons of red clover, nighty nigh to the sorrasims on their taws. Whor dor the pene lie, Mer Pencho? 1st dramhead countmortial or gonorrhal stab? Mind your pughs and keaoghs, if you don’t keep me now