“It is unimportant,” she said. The hansom sped through the crowded streets. CHAPTER X. “I heard the clock strike as I crossed the square,” she answered. The eggs were all right, but nobody in this part of the world had the least conception of what the coffee bean was for. “I’m a vampire. A bobbing lantern, crossing the bridge—for she had not drawn the curtain—attracted her attention. I leaned over and looked at him—he was quite still. And this was an adventure of which he had dreamed from boyhood: aboard a windjammer on the South Seas. There was once a philanthropist who dressed with shameful shabbiness and carried pearls in his pocket. 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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