[…] the attic, which since the earliest days Fuchsia could remember had been for her a world undesecrate.

If it had a flaw, it was in a tendency toward workaday tepidness. Mr. Maazel, for his part, gave a focused, dignified reading, and forbore from striking his repertory of conductorial poses until the score’s final page.

This kind of language, obviously, was not a language for writing, and, indeed, not much documentation has been preserved. What little has survived is, again, literary and, again, due to glossism, i.e., the literary exigencies of color, fun, and satire.

By comparison with the present transcribers, I'm sure my performance would be supercalifragilisticexpialidocious.