I strove through the stagnant verbosity of my words; I would have spat down a poem upon this page for you to read and say, "Ah, I know him now. I did not know him, but the ruddy truth of it is laid down blushing before me, I see him rawly and redly. And I know him."

THAT would not happen.

I had no vinegar meditation to lay upon you, no distilled bitterness with which to touch you. I have only myself to choke you with.