I'm at Mr Rosencreutz, and I'm taking a second to post so as to regain my breath, I'm laughing so hard. I mean, I don't even know which bit to choose, so some samples of amusing savagery:
"So that was the signification of his gold medallion! The penis, represented by itself, aspires upwards, represented by the wings, but is dragged downwards, represented by the twining stem, by the female part, represented by the rose. H'm. This is some kind of heretical possibly Manichean version of neo-Platonic Rosicrucianism, thinks I to myself; tread carefully, girlie! I exort myself.
"He's so appalled himself at the notion of the orifice that the poor old sod mumbles and whimpers himself to a halt, though he's no stranger to the Abyss, himself, used to come every Sunday, just to convince himself it was as 'orrible as he'd always thought.
"I try a dollop of his excellent Stilton, pondering as I savour it the baroque eclecticism of his mythology.
"I saw in the paper only yesterday how he gives the most impressive speech in the House on the subject of Votes for Women. Which he is against. On account of how women are of a different soul-substance from men, cut from a different bolt of spirit cloth, and altogether too pure and rarefied to be bothering their pretty little heads with things of this world, such as the Irish question and the Boer War.
for what Mr Rosencreutz is willing to pay for the privilege of busting a scrap of cartilege was quite sufficient to set my entire family up in comfort, I can tell you.