Pray cease strangling that young woman and pay your proper addresses to me

Also just on the subject of rediscovering one's own creations:

“No one in this household has any respect for his elders,” she went on grumpily. “Not a moment was I seated here for Camilla to entertain me with her playing, but that blackguard comes to the door, and she is off like a deer to God knows where—all he wants is putting in place; she ought to slap his face if she cannot bring her maiden hands to strike him where he deserves it more—and then no sooner has Hector taken him into the library but there is an almighty crash from upstairs, probably one of those good-for-nothing housemaids breaking all the chamber pots, and both Camilla and Hector go running off again, having forgot about me completely by this time no doubt. And next, from what I could hear, Hector and his fine lordship at fisticuffs like any common street urchins. In my day, gentlemen carried swords. Not that we would want blood in the front hall; it would never come out of the carpets. Sit down.”

Oh, Mrs. A, what part of my brain did you come out of? I love you so much.

(I should be done with the editing today. Which means I need to think what happens next.)