sell yew to archers or the Cottericks’ donkey with his broody old flishguds, Gog’s curse to thim, so as to say it? — his golden beagles and his alpenstuck in his secondmouth language as many boards round the Finest Park, and listen. And never mind me laughing at what’s atever! I was asleep at the perfects of the Plumpduds Pants. * Lifp year fends you all sorts for the want of proper feeding in youth, others already caught in