Love and lavender, he thought, perhaps wistfully. She hoped fervently that Martin had not divulged his crush to Brown. “How do you know?” “Well, it isn’t exactly a depressing state, is it?” “YOU don’t know. Stanley regarded him through his glasses with something approaching animosity. 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. A jolly night we made of it, as you may suppose; for four such monarchs don't often come together.
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