And why do you think that is so, you descriptives? Why, it’s because you have desecrated Christopher Tolkien’s pockets and left PELLETS in them, and also you stole his comb. Yes, his comb! Stop that silly giggling! Do you think this is a brothel for feeble-minded Stoors? As Boswell so accurately reports, though admittedly with a whiff of semprosimilitude, Dr Johnson did not abide quiffs gladly, and neither do the Uruk-hair! They will fix you all right, you fine-haired sons of twitches! Wait for the fiff to fall, and then you’ll laugh through the other side of your mouths. Neither will the horse leave its stable.