I suppose there are no end of 'ologists who will frown at my penchant for firearms and swear that it makes me a mother-fixated, bed-wetting psycho with a small penis.

And that old dame said many an idle verse, / Out of her daughter's heart fond fancies to reverse.

What's worse, I suppose I girlishly trilled all this to him, and too often. […]

So much for the desire of these interesting creatures to—we don't say marry, because the word is not genteel, and is rather discountenanced at the college—but to connubiate.