“I remember,” she said, “that the first night I saw you, you spoke of my sister as your friend. 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. “Veronique!” she cried with a rising intonation, though never before had she called Ann Veronica anything but Miss Stanley, and seized her and squeezed her and kissed her with profound emotion. She thought of them as fools, but had been sorry to see them go. "I haven't worn anything else in weeks.
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