Whether it was the nun’s habit or the harlot’s clothing that distressed her more, he could not begin to guess. "Don't look at it, I entreat," she cried. 25 <4> THE ARRIVAL OF THE BLACK DEATH He loved her many times, especially in the first month. Had she not seen them go forth with tracts in their pockets and grins in their beards? To set fire to his imagination, to sting his sense of chivalry into being, to awaken his manhood, she must present some irresistible project. On the fifth day he had ventured speech with her. But perhaps you don't know; there was nothing in the pockets. “Oh, dammit!” he remarked, “dammit!” with great bitterness as he faced it.
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