“And now,” cried Max, “let the wild rumpus start!”
[But] Max, the king of all wild things, was lonely and wanted to be where someone loved him best of all.
[He] stepped into his private boat and waved goodbye, and sailed back over a year, and in and out of weeks, and through a day and into the night of his very own room, where he found his supper waiting for him.
And it was still hot.
For all of those hours of singular pleasure spent with entranced sleepyheads, binkies, fevers, pillow-tossing wild rumpuses of giddy joy, thank you. And farewell.