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. But he wrote on. He resolved to judge for himself. ‘I knew I should find you still here. They had chosen to deliberately and wickedly insult a lady who had done her best to entertain them for many weeks. The tide'll bring him to us fast enough. I hate what I am. They talked across their meal in an easy and friendly manner about Ann Veronica’s affairs. Occasionally he would lean back and stare at the window which gave upon the sea.
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