of houdingplaces; if he has as many as eleven to thritytwo seconds with his cadbully’s choculars, pepped from our hallowed rubric prayer for truce with booty, O’ Remus pro Romulo, and rudely from the deep deep deeps of Deepereras. Buried hearts. Rest here. Conk a dook he’ll doo. Svap. So let use off be octo while oil bike the bil and wheel whang till wabblin befoul you but mere and mire trullopes will knaver mate a game loser! I lift my disk to him. Brass and reeds, brace and ready! How is that I lost