In the midst of the refection, you
could have your fortune told, very favorably, for a very little
money. All up and down this happy avenue there went girls of
several dozen sizes and ages, crying a particular kind of taffy,
proper to the day and place, and never to be had on any other day
in any other place.
We had an hour before train-time, and we thought we would go and
see the Parish Church of Doncaster, which we had read was worth
seeing. Our belief was confirmed by a group of disappointed
ladies in the churchyard, who said it was a most beautiful church
inside, but that they had not seen it because it was shut. We
proved the fact by trying the door, and then we came away
consoling ourselves with the scoff that it was probably closed
for the races. At the bookseller's, where we stopped to buy some
photographs of the interior of the church we had not seen, we
lamented our disappointment, and the salesman said, "Perhaps it
was closed for the races." So our joke seemed to turn earnest,
and on reflection it did not surprise us in that England of
close-knit unities where people and prince are of one texture in
their pleasures and devotions, and the Church is hardly more
national than the Turf.
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