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on. Mirrylamb, she was shuffering all the diseasinesses of the un-

herd of. Mary Louisan Shousapinas! If Arck could no more salve

his angels form the wiles of willy wooly woolf! If all the airish

signics of her dipandump helpabit from an Father Hogam till

the Mutther Masons could not that Glugg to catch her by the

colour of her brideness! Not Rose, Sevilla nor Citronelle, not

Esmeralde, Pervinca nor Indra; not Viola even nor all of them

four themes over. But, the montage stick in the melmelode jawr,

I am (twintomine) all thees thing. Up tight in the front, down

again on the loose, drim and drumming on her back and a pop

from her while. What is that, O holytroopers? Isot givin yoe?