She felt smaller and more adventurous even than she had expected to feel. “The Holy Ghost! The Pope! My mother!” She squealed. It was only a few months ago that I told you you must come to London, and you only laughed at me. 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. I didn’t think—I don’t know what I thought. I’ve been thinking, you know—I’m not sure that primarily the perception of beauty isn’t just intensity of feeling free from pain; intensity of perception without any tissue destruction.
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