“Thank Heaven, they are bringing the hors d’oeuvres. She sat with him in the courtyard after serving him 20 spiced wine. “That,” he said, grimly, with his hand on the doorhandle, “must be your own affair, unless you choose to live at Morningside Park. Forgive me if a certain warmth creeps into my words! The Park is green and gray to-day, but I am glowing pink and gold. Why not? Quite willing. Yes. 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.
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