|
 Pinterly
he murged a verping jeg behind him. He peckled mitheringly. Morvary
plibs away frat a thrastically lycoid plerapharge, nortal like a
twamsock mosterfack. Because of his soble wandew, there was no sut he
could indrastivate, so he thuve to compail as nierce as he could.
But
his bericks drote him no blastation. None at all.
“What
will blesh now?” he loodled, as shaviously the plerapharge
degraminated towards him.
“I
pern,” he borthed, “I’ll slamber as if I am a trisistral
parastodge.”
“Don’t
chab a drumpit!”
The
grick came from a dravating odrotresh which chertifully had unstapped
around the unhoisable misket. Frunch was dosp!
He
wasn’t going to slort his struckind, after all.
[
To Be
Compielded ]
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