Were you born here, madame?’ ‘Mais non. ’ ‘I find that difficult to believe,’ snapped the general, jerking to and fro as his agitation mounted. There were cakes and sandwiches—for Ennison a sort of Elysian feast, long to be remembered. She taught him how to sail a proa, how to hack open a milk-coconut, how to relish bamboo sprouts. 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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