And they would prove as
terrible a warning to him as the fatal characters upon Belshazzar's
wall. There was a strong sensation. Hotchkiss turned a sallow green.
His lawyers assumed a careless smile.
It was his duty to tell them that this was not one of those ordinary
"breach-of-promise" cases which were too often the occasion of
ruthless mirth and indecent levity in the courtroom. The jury would
find nothing of that here, There were no love-letters with the
epithets of endearment, nor those mystic crosses and ciphers which, he
had been credibly informed, chastely hid the exchange of those mutual
caresses known as "kisses." There was no cruel tearing of the veil
from those sacred privacies of the human affection--there was no
forensic shouting out of those fond confidences meant only for _one_.
But there was, he was shocked to say, a new sacrilegious intrusion.
The weak pipings of Cupid were mingled with the chorus of the
saints--the sanctity of the temple known as the "meeting-house" was
desecrated by proceedings more in keeping with the shrine of
Venus--and the inspired writings themselves were used as the medium of
amatory and wanton flirtation by the defendant in his sacred capacity
as Deacon.
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