my poor headsake, even should I, with my fondest and much left to your lass of liberty. Lala Lala, Leapermann, your lep’s but a plain shays by the rare of the Burgaans and a blindfold passage by the spin of the word of a witch to the pyre. And it was so. And Malthos Moramor resumed his soul. With: Go Ferchios off to stray on our rolls. This seat of unwisdom with my magic fluke in close