The sweet beckoning, reckoning to chase all the troglodytes the cards and carpet knights. A fast approaching gladness overwhelming stench of sadness simpers, impish humors glowing in your eye. And if for fear of merriment, we sent and bent the letters to our betters on the shore, would they be enticed to read them all if not to read once more? Shortened sunlight gathers rather swimmingly to see what clambers in the stark, dark, depths of me.