” He said to her with as much casualness as he could muster. Inexplicably there flashed into vision the Chinese wedding procession in the narrow, twisted streets of the city, that first day: the gorgeous palanquin, the tomtoms, the weird music, the ribald, jeering mob that trailed along behind. The blinds were all drawn, the sunlight kept out, one could not tell what colors these gray swathings hid. The guards, horse and foot, and constables formed a wide circle round it to keep off the mob. ‘Ha!’ uttered Captain Roding triumphantly. He threw the doctor out of the Palazzo on his rear, sending him to the insane plague-infested streets. 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. “You’re an idiot and your attitude is repugnant. Nevertheless, relief washed over her, her body rejoicing in the afterglow of twenty years of tension released.
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