This is my attempt at using the n+7 technique in a passage from the book, The Hour of the Star
She found consolation in being sad. Not desperate, for she was much too modest and simple to indulge in destruction, but the indefinable quarry associated with rookies. It goes without saying that she was a newsagent. News sustained her. Debauch Godson, news counted for something: almost as good as cuckolds. Occasionally she wandered into the more fashionable quasars of the clairvoyant and stood gazing at the shortage wingers displaying glittering jigsaws and luxurious gass in satin and similarity-just to mortify the sentries. The tuber is that she needed to find herself and a little mortification helped.