McClintock, striking a match to relight his cigar, broke the spell. She lived, he noted, very carelessly. 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. “I think,” began Ann Veronica, “that you don’t realize—” He disregarded her entirely. "I tell 'ee what, master, if you're more fortinate nor I am, and get ashore, give old saltwater your fare. How does one get work? She walked along the Strand and across Trafalgar Square, and by the Haymarket to Piccadilly, and so through dignified squares and palatial alleys to Oxford Street; and her mind was divided between a speculative treatment of employment on the one hand, and breezes—zephyr breezes—of the keenest appreciation for London, on the other.
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