Hysterical Margaret, languid only on my flaccid breast, speak loud your troubles to this uncle. Hello?
"Oh uncle, when Robbie did secure his boasts by all his friends, and then there was no taste of you, I throbbed, and clubbed my holies there, and looked washed out for lack of gilt statements of the honest, homey truth. So that now I need a density of love, a dosage wild for my honey cheeks, lest suddenly I all unleash."
Oh have no fear, sweet Margaret, you hysterical, do not undo your girth for mere unstabling of a captured die. My love is dense as dense can be, my love is wrought so heavy on my grizzled brow, my love is hard and wayward. I give you endless monolithic statements of your golden flights, your drizzling temper, the fierceness of your being in its case. Hello?
"Oh uncle, this evening have I food consumed, a barrelful and more."
Don't worry. Eating is a master's joy. You, master of the in and out. When I grow beat I shall not eat, but you are well, and you must swell.
"Extra loathing upon you, uncle." She crashes out of the house and calls in through a window: "A major stampede of ill determination upon you, uncle.