Faced with the enraged, ravening She-Beast of the multitrudinous Land of Zotzibar, Grignr felt a piercing scream wind its slow, plodding way from the podiatric toes of his nether extremities to the grease-filled trichiatric mane of cephalic growth on his pate (without which he would have been as bald as the squat and hideous idol of the dreaded Temple of Fee-Fee) and exclaimed with bold terror, "Fie upon thee, enraged ravening She-Beast! Return to the multitrudinous Land of Zotzibar from whence thou camest! Ee... ee... eeeeeeek!!!111"
Now, rewrite the above in the style of L. M. Montgomery.
Outside Grignr's humble abode, the wild cherry trees had burst into glorious bloom, a zephyr brought the salt-tang of the ocean through the window where, at eventide, Grignr was wont to lean and dream of a starry future. Just now he felt a shiver of fright as Mrs. Dunwoodie of Dun-Roamin Farm (also known as The Ravening She-Beast) turned from the red roadway and walked through the arbour where, later in the summer, masses of roses would spill their heavenly perfume on the warm air. Mrs. Dunwoodie looked cross and well she might, since naughty Grignr had gone berserk that afternoon and slaughtered all her cows, leaving a horrid path of entrails across the pastures of Dun-Roamin farm. Grignr knew he was in for it. A spanking, possibly. No supper and straight to bed, for sure. He whimpered.