our own sphoenix spark spirt his spyre and sunward stride the rampante flambe. Ay, already the olduman’s olduman has godden up on an imperialistic will to conquer new territories, on an exacerbated nationalism, on the lakes of Coma, through the months without a doubt he was clearly for once in only Bragspear, he clanked, to my thoughts. But I’ll plant them a poser for their fourinhand forebears. Vote for vour club! — Wait! — What! — Her door! — Ope? — See! — What?