He looked at her guiltily. A species of vertigo seized him. Don’t say anything, she thought to herself, say nothing more, Martin. No offence, I hope. The Protestant Flagellant, who whipped his soul rather than his body, who made self-denial the rack and the boot, who believed that on Sunday it was sacrilegious to smile, blasphemous to laugh! Spurlock had gone back spiritually three hundred years. Moreover, she claims that this whole enterprise of hers is purely for the purpose of marrying an Englishman. Mrs. . “Really, Sir John,” she said, “I don’t know how to thank you. A familiar figure was making his way towards them. If it was not an actual personal lover, it still might be the lover not yet incarnate, not yet perhaps suspected. Hastening to the spot where he had tied his horse to a tree, he vaulted into the saddle, and rode off across the fields,—for he was fearful of encountering the hostile party,—till he reached the Edgeware Road. There’d only be endless rows if I was at home. Now lend me your own hand. Nevertheless, relief washed over her, her body rejoicing in the afterglow of twenty years of tension released.
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