I shall send you a can every six months.

That ought to do for him all right." Mrs.Skinner mumbled something about "if you think so, Sir," and "probably got packed by mistake....

Thought no harm in giving him a little," and so by the aid of various aspen gestures indicated that she understood.
So the child went on growing.
And growing.
"Practically," said Lady Wondershoot, "he's eaten up every calf in the place.

If I have any more of this sort of thing from that man Caddles--" VII.
But even so secluded a place as Cheasing Eyebright could not rest for long in the theory of Hypertrophy--Contagious or not--in view of the growing hubbub about the Food.

In a little while there were painful explanations for Mrs.Skinner--explanations that reduced her to speechless mumblings of her remaining tooth--explanations that probed her and ransacked her and exposed her--until at last she was driven to take refuge from a universal convergence of blame in the dignity of inconsolable widowhood.