“Hello, Helen! … What are you reading? … Oh! … Did you know there’s three ladies and four lords in Love’s Labour’s Lost, plus the longest scene, the longest speech and – simply sesquipedalian! – the longest word in all of his oeuvre?”
The librarian had been listlessly leafing through Love’s Labour’s Lost, alone at lunchtime in a library in Leeds. But she’d only be lonely as long as love’s labour was lost or alliteration lasted.
“Yes, I did… and the word’s honorific-abilitudi-nitatibus, if I’ve got it right… What are you reading, Gus?”
