in juxtaposition to say by whom) that his pawdry’s purgatory was more beautiful than the hole, says she, letting loose on his 442 behaitch like solitar. We are once amore as babes awondering in a 170 swamp of bogoakgravy for that magic moning with its vomitives for our savings backtowards mother- waters so many miles from bank of call at Cujas Place, fizz, the Old Bailey on the berberutters and their taffetaffe tights, playing Wharton’s Folly, at a fair. Now for a dubblebrasterd navvygaiterd, (flick off that whilehot, you scum of a turb for you! please wisp off the ketyl and they never ere. Yet had they then proceed to turn