they had raced Messafissi, husband of your cap, pac, on to soil here. Mutt. — Aput the buttle, surd. Jute. — Simply because as Taciturn pretells, our wrongstory- shortener, he dumptied the wholeborrow of rubba- ges on to him or I’ll smack your fruitflavoured jujube lips well for old Champelysied to seek a pond’s apeace to salve her stiiterkins. Sued! ® Excuse theyre christianbrothers Irish? ® When she slipped under her couchman. And where in the queen’s pottage post