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There is a prayer some one prayed once one tired New Year's Eve, which appeals to me. "Forgive me my Christmases as I forgive them that have Christmased against me." I could pray the same model outline for a prayer. But for Christmasing, substitute propagandy-izing. The word somehow itself in its own unconscious beauty dramatizes the way I feel about it.
Then quite abruptly she laughed aloud. "Oh you can't scare me any more, you gloomy old Rattle-Pane House!" she laughed. "You're not deserted now! People are Christmasing in you! Whether you like it or not you're being Christmased!" Very tentatively she puckered her lips to a whistle. Almost instantly from the darkness ahead a dog's bark rang out, deep, sonorous, faintly suspicious.
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