Sir John looked about him, and somehow the laugh died away. You want me to be clean. We've got to make him take up the harp of life and go twanging it again. It was a pity people had to eat food. 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. ’ ‘Ah, that explains your surprise. “You know very well that she is selfish and pleasure-loving to the backbone. They might applaud, or object, or interfere, but the drama was her very own.
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