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CHAPTER XI
 Richard's Sabbaths had become days of dismal1 torpor2. A year ago, on first arriving in London, he had projected a series of visits to churches famous either for architectural beauty or for picturesque3 ritual. A few weeks, however, had brought tedium4. He was fundamentally irreligious, and his churchgoing proceeded from a craving5, purely6 sensuous7, which sought gratification in ceremonial pomps, twilight8 atmospheres heavy with incense9 and electric with devotion, and dim perspectives of arching stone. But these things he soon discovered lost their fine savour by the mere10 presence of a prim11 congregation secure in the brass12 armour13 of self-complacency; for him the worship was spoilt by the worshippers, and so the time came when the only church which he cared to attend—and even to this he went but infrequently, lest use should stale its charm—was the Roman Catholic oratory14 of St. Philip Neri, where, at mass, the separation of the sexes struck a grateful note of austerity, and the mean appearance of the people contrasted admirably with the splendour of the priests' vestments, the elaborate music, and the gilt15 and colour of altars. Here deity16 was omnipotent17 and humanity abject18. Men and women of all grades, casting themselves down before the holy images in the ecstatic abandonment of repentance19, prayed side by side, oblivious20 of everything save their sins and the anger of a God. As a spectacle the oratory was sublime21.  
He visited it about once a month. The mornings of intervening Sundays were given to aimless perambulation of the parks, desultory22 reading, or sleep; there was nothing to prevent him leaving town for the day, but he was so innocent of any sort of rural lore23 that the prospect24 of a few hours in the country was seldom enticing25 enough to rouse sufficient energy for its accomplishment26. After dinner he usually slept, and in the evening he would take a short walk and go early to bed. For some reason he never attempted to work on Sundays.
 
It had rained continuously since he left Parson's Green station on the previous night, till midday on Sunday, and in the afternoon he was lounging half asleep with a volume of verse on his knee, considering whether or not to put on his hat and go out, when Lily entered; Lily was attired27 for conquest, and with her broad velvet28 hat and pink bows looked so unlike a servant-girl that drowsy29 Richard started up, uncertain what fairy was brightening his room.
 
 
"Please, sir, there's a young gentleman as wants to see you."
 
"Oh!—who is it?" No one had ever called upon him before.
 
"I don't know, sir; it's a young gentleman."
 
The young gentleman was ushered31 in. He wore a new black frock coat, and light grey trousers which fell in rich folds over new patent-leather boots. The shortcomings of his linen32, which was dull and bluish in tint33, were more than atoned34 for by the magnificence of a new white silk necktie with heliotrope
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