Hitherº let us as we have rest and followed them, quick lunch, buy our lefts, halt, long Livius Lane, Mid Mezzofanti Mall, diagonising Lavatery Square, up Tycho Brahe Crescent, Shouldering Berkeley's Alley ?under Saint Cecilia's Archeway, to befinding ourselves, when old is sad and one, afore a mosoleum, Length without Breath, of Him, a chip off the evums who |2|awho |bisb| (Dominus Directus!)a|, in his antecipience as in his recognisances, |aa nook for Nike, a man for Mike and a rose in the ring for Margot. But fair, be fear! The marriage of Mountan wetting his moll, we know, as any enthewsyass cuddling a hoyden, with her rougey gipsylike chinkamaid's cheeks & her greenblouse all indigged in with voylets. |xWhen who was wist was wan. En elv, et fjaell. Hence taking times we haply returnx|a| the upshoot of a picnic or a stupor out of sopor, Cave of Kids, Hymenian Gladstonebury |aisa| (Dominic Directus)2| is |2a Manyfeast2| more mob than Man.