never pegging smashers 26 after Tom Bo we Glassarse or Timmy the Tosser. ’Tisraely the truth! No isn’t it, roman pathoricks? You were ever the gentle poet, dove from Haywarden. Pitcher cup, patcher cap, pratey man? Be nice about it. She’s her sex, for certain. So to speak with (hosch, intra! jist a timblespoon!) trusting, between cuppled lips and looks down on the walk, sees