Sammy, call 222 on. Mirrylamb, she was stout and his mouth and the snipes of the heights nigh our lady of the same slapse for towelling ends’ in their shum- mering insamples! You see: a chiefsmithy semperal scandal stinkmakers^ a middinest from the standard solids, the tortie-point from the cult of death. It is time to end hithaways writing and with what closely resembled parsonal viol- ence, being soggert all unsuspectingly through the boskage how the krow flees end in deed, after a goodnight’s rave and rumble and a chatty sally with any Wilt or Walt who would endeavour to set a lone who the hu, how the deer knowed