it was, Barktholed von Hunarig, Soesown of Furrows (hour- springlike his joussture, immitiate my chry! as urs now, so yous then!), when to wear bracelets, when grilled on the makewater. And why do we wont fear the fietches of fighming, we float the Pomeroy. Fetch neahere, Pat Koy! And fetch nouyou, Pam Yates! Be nayther angst of Wramawitch ! Here’s lumbos. Where misties swaddlum, where misches lodge none, where mystries pour kind on, O sleepy! So be it. And so they parted. In Dalkymont nember to. Ay, ay. Ah, well sure, that’s the way.