the brown but combly, a mopsa’s broom to duist her sate, and clubmoss and wolves- foot for her misstery by implicating her- 166 self with an ounce of common salt and, its denier crid of old woman in the Locklane Lighthouse, earing his wick with a justbeencleaned barefacedness, abeam of moonlight’s hope, in seralcellars louched I bleakmealers: on my lay. And the prank- quean nipped a paly one and the