still. Yes, evening will find itself in me, without me. All days make their end. By the way next when is it Tuesday will be the longest day.

Of all the glad new year, mother, the rum tum tiddledy tum. Lawn Tennyson, gentleman poet. Gi�. For the old hag with the yellow teeth. And Monsieur Drumont, gentleman journalist. Gi�. My teeth are very bad. Why, I wonder. Feel. That one is going too. Shells. Ought I go to a dentist, I wonder, with that money? That one. This. Toothless Kinch, the superman. Why is that, I wonder, or does it mean something perhaps?

My handkerchief. He threw it. I remember. Did I not take it up?

His hand groped vainly in his pockets. No, I didn’t. Better buy one.

He laid the dry snot picked from