‘And that Suzanne, the sister of my cousin the vicomte, must choose between Monsieur Charvill and her brother. The room was worse than pokey, it was shabby; and the view from the window, of chimney pots and slate roofs, wholly uninspiring. The primitive superstition of his Puritan forbears was his; and before this the buckler of his education disintegrated. As usual Brendon lit the candles, and Sydney dragged out the spiritlamp and set it going. "Oh, lud! what's that?" exclaimed a female voice, from an adjoining room.
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