I gave up the puzzle.

Some folks' notions of gentility are beyond my wits.
I had taken to going to the church in James Town, first at Mr.Lambie's desire, and then because I liked the sermons.

There on a Sunday you would see the fashion of the neighbourhood, for the planters' ladies rode in on pillions, and the planters themselves, in gold-embroidered waistcoats and plush breeches and new-powdered wigs, leaned on the tombstones, and exchanged snuffmulls and gossip.

In the old ramshackle graveyard you would see such a parade of satin bodices and tabby petticoats and lace headgear as made it blossom like the rose.

I went to church one Sunday in my second summer, and, being late, went up the aisle looking for a place.