I see Prichard occasionally for lunch in a vegetarian restaurant…. The dishes have strange names, like those of some unknown religion; initiates think nothing at all of ordering ‘a protose of peppers’ [?] or ‘a nuttalene’ [?]. These names, smacking of organic chemistry, correspond to substances which pretend to be meat without being so […]

But by inferring sleep, the etymology also undersells Siberia's scope, both real and imagined.

Mor[timer] iu[nior]. Crie quittance Madam then, & loue not him. / Qu[een]. No, rather will I die a thousand deaths, / And yet I loue in vaine, heele nere loue me.]

I generally make a hash of talking to boys I like; it's so frustrating.