I spoke to him earlier.

There were a thousand and one gems of café-chatter, of tit-for-tattle – of score-offs and well-rubbed-ins.

[…] wooing, wedding, and repenting, is as a Scotch jig, a measure, and a cinque pace: the first suit is hot and hasty, like a Scotch jig, and full as fantastical; the wedding, mannerly-modest, as a measure, full of state and ancientry; and then comes repentance and, with his bad legs, falls into the cinque pace faster and faster, till he sink into his grave.

Internet Hindus and fans of Narendra Modi would bury you six feet under and do a gravedance on your grave with surreal pleasure!