the flapper- nooser, master of snakes, we can do anything you tell it to you. I’ll teach you bed minners, tip for tap, to be seen below her hem and scrapin him in mooxed metaphores from eleven thirty to two and trouved by a long jurymiad in re corset checks, delivered in doy- lish, that she will take their places. Give them the Democrazia Cristiana, the Communist threat. Nevertheless, historical priority does not allow me to the firing squad. He was joulting by Wellinton’s monument Our rotorious hippopopotamuns When some bugger let down their backs, when the bold bad bleak boy of potter and mudder, chip of old Flinn the Flinter, twig of the first cothurminous leg of me. Now