You notice what a rich gloom, what a somber and pervading mystery, that word sheds all over the whole Wallachian tragedy.

That is the charm of the thing, that is the delight of it.

This is where you begin, this is where you revel.

You can guess and guess, and have all the fun you like; you need not be afraid there will be an end to it; none is possible, for no amount of guessing will ever furnish you a meaning for that word that you can be sure is the right one.

All the other words give you hints, by their form, their sound, or their spelling--this one doesn't, this one throws out no hints, this one keeps its secret.