‘But what is it that amuses you, Jacques?’ Kimble’s grin spread wider. Mademoiselle has had no harm of me,’ Gerald said soothingly and bowed. 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. Presently she was again in that dreadful tavern of the Thénardiers. Gosse, if he had any sense, would immediately seek out the Remenham lawyers.
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