Oh, what a day for mayn’t it is! Copper washstand by the bed, dim light of the fire, glass on the windows always wavy for the eighteenth century: But how will you century, gay as you are? The fastidiousness of your breeches, the uncorseted rowdiness of your shoulders, have given you away as the most bent — hush and whist away, the master’s coming! Swiftly bend to straighten a portrait-end, and hustle yourself into good worksmanship and fine quality. Quicken yourself into fine womanhood, and decrease the buttons on your greatcoat! You’ve lingered overlong on the grass-hills by the sea and caught such a spraying as to wash your insides the wrong sort of clean. Hushabye now! Ask yourself, before the maidlings enter and squash your thinking:
"...the only place for such Greek touchings is the corridor! Will you move, or risk discovery?"
Request for a choose-your-own-adventure along these lines, please.