It is evident, in spite of his frequent attention to her while she draws, that in fact he knows nothing of the matter. He admires as a lover, not as a connoisseur.
Louisa, who […] had but ill born the commencement of this conversation, could sit it no longer, and hastily throwing up the sash, complained of the intense heat of the room.
Since this then is plainly the case, there can be no choise in dying honourably in the field for so just a cause, or leving to see the ruin and intire destruction of our country, our King, and our friends and relations.
In other words, there is no acultural Christianity, just as there is no acultural option for God, love, and salvation.
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