Indeed, I am not an irreligious man, really; I am rather a religious
man; and this is not an irreligious, but rather a religious, book.

Such thoughts should make men humble. After all, may not even John
Burns be human; may not Mr. Chamberlain himself have a heart that can
feel for another?

Gentle reader, that was a wise as well as a charitable man who taught
us there is honour among thieves; although, having never been a member
of Parliament himself, he must have spoken from hearsay.

"For all that, Robert, you're a notorious Infidel." I paused--just
opposite the Tivoli--and gazed moodily up and down the Strand.

As I have remarked elsewhere, I like the Strand. It is a very human
place. But I own that the Strand lacks dignity and beauty, and that
amongst its varied odours the odour of sanctity is scarce perceptible.

There are no trees in the Strand. The thoroughfare should be wider.
The architecture is, for the most part, banal. For a chief street in
a Christian capital, the Strand is not eloquent of high national ideals.

There are derelict churches in the Strand, and dingy blatant taverns,
and strident signs and hoardings; and there are slums hard by.

There are thieves in the Strand, and prowling vagrants, and gaunt
hawkers, and touts, and gamblers, and loitering failures, with tragic
eyes and wilted garments; and prostitutes plying for hire.

And east and west, and north and south of the Strand, there is London.