The Queen is Dead.

In the full swing yesterday of preparation for a convivial foregathering, I came to the donning of the raiment, laid out as it had been by one’s faithful manservant.  But where I had looked for vim and zip I saw clothing in the soberest of cuts and color.  “Jeeves,” quoth I, “why this solemnity of garb?  Why these dim-hued items of apparel?”

With his usual tact, Jeeves broke to me the news.  Stout fellow.  One’s feelings were dashed stirred up.