‘Bête. Why are you doing all this?’ To his surprise, Melusine relaxed back, emitting a laugh that sounded perfectly genuine. But not today. She would become defensive—what she did would be the thing that mattered. It seems to me very silly. . McClintock stared into the bowl of his pipe and Spurlock into his coffee cup. “Sometimes it is not bad. What matters it? My servant, he is wounded—and by a Frenchman, if you wish to make an arrest. 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.
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