I felt that I was “sitting on needles,” when I slipped into the Meriken church without glancing at even one page of the Bible. It was as risky a venture as to face an examination before fitting.
The service hadn’t begun.
Many ladies were introduced to me by Mrs. Schuyler.
They talked about—what?—anything but religion.
I was fanned continually by an offensive odor. Some one had left her perfume at home.
Honourable arm-pit smell!
Amerikey cultivates many a disagreeable sort of thing, doubtless.
The ladies seemed to regard the church as another drawing parlor.
My mind was calmed within ten minutes.
Ureshiya!