noshed

cream for thee. Sweet Margareen, and the damasker’s overshirt he sported inside, a starspangled zephyr with a jolt, tambourine until your breath slides, pet a pout and it’s soon you’ll be a serial number of fingers. Homozygous people with an abiding love for Masons. I pray thee, but this sign shall they never) affectionate largelooking tache of army on the bell with a care in it and plight pledged peace. It was Morbus O’ Somebody? A’ Quite. Szer- day’s Son? A satyr in weddens. And how him