He looked from the sword to the dagger with which he had brought her down here, and grimaced. "The shoulder-clappers!" added a lady, who, in her anxiety to join the party, had unintentionally substituted her husband's nether habiliments for her own petticoats. There was nothing left now of the selfassured, prosperous man of affairs. It’s true. 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. . He held her hand in his, cupped together like a pair of shells for the rest of the hour. "He'll not trouble you on the liquor side, Mac. I ought to have seen—” “It doesn’t matter a rap—if you’re not disposed to resent the—the way I behaved.
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