He forgot for the moment his own self-pity, the egotism of his own passionate love. She had done forever with the Age of Chivalry, and her own base adaptations of its traditions to the compromising life. 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. “Who are YOU that the world should lie down at your feet? “You’ve got to be a decent citizen, Ann Veronica. And, setting down the link, he proceeded deliberately to untie his cravat. "To those who, like me, have never been able to get out of the dark and dreary paths of life, the grave is indeed a refuge, and the sooner they reach it the better. “You remember our first meeting?” “Yes,” he answered hoarsely.
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