self-righteousness.

At the sudden sight of it (especially on Sundays) all the cardinal
virtues became hateful on the spot and respectability a thing to run
away from. Even that smooth, close-shaven cleanliness was so
Puritanically aggressive as to make one abhor the very idea of soap.

Its accent, when it spoke French (in shops), instead of being musical
and sweet and sympathetic, like Madame Seraskier's, was barbarous and
grotesque, with dreadful "ongs," and "angs," and "ows," and "ays"; and
its manner overbearing, suspicious, and disdainful; and then we could
hear its loud, insolent English asides; and though it was tall and
straight and not outwardly deformed, it looked such a kill-joy skeleton
at a feast, such a portentous carnival mask of solemn emptiness, such a
dreary, doleful, unfunny figure of fun, that one felt Waterloo might
some day be forgiven, even in Passy; but the Prendergasts, _never_!

I have lived so long away from the world that, for all I know, this
ancient British type, this "grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous
bird of yore," may have become extinct, like another, but less
unprepossessing bird--the dodo; whereby our state is the more gracious.

But in those days, and generalizing somewhat hastily as young people
are apt to do, we grew to think that England must be full of
Prendergasts, and did not want to go there.

To this universal English beastliness of things we made a few
exceptions, it is true, but the list was not long: tea, mustard,
pickles, gingerbread-nuts, and, of all things in the world, the English
loaf of household bread that came to us once a week as a great treat and