” The dinner was admirable as a dinner; nothing went wrong, from the golden and excellent clear soup to the delightful iced marrons and cream; and Miss Stanley’s praises died away to an appreciative acquiescence. The aspect of the place, so far as he could discern through the gloom, was strange to him; but chancing to raise his eyes above the level of the surrounding habitations, he beheld, relieved against the sombre sky, the tall steeple of Saint Giles's church, the precursor of the present structure, which was not erected till some fifteen years later. In the distance a bell clanged, and chattering broke out in the doorway as several nuns came crowding in. Stanley regarded him through his glasses with something approaching animosity. Marvel held her handkerchief to her eyes, and appeared in great distress. He sat down. Taking the light, they then proceeded along the passage. ‘You do not understand, Gérard. Before midnight, your nephew shall be safe beneath the hatches of the Zeeslang. Modern, indeed! She was going to be as primordial as chipped flint.
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