CHAPTER XII--A NIGHT WITH DURDLES.
When Mr.Sapsea has nothing better to do, towards evening, and finds the contemplation of his own profundity becoming a little monotonous in spite of the vastness of the subject, he often takes an airing in the Cathedral Close and thereabout.

He likes to pass the churchyard with a swelling air of proprietorship, and to encourage in his breast a sort of benignant-landlord feeling, in that he has been bountiful towards that meritorious tenant, Mrs.Sapsea, and has publicly given her a prize.

He likes to see a stray face or two looking in through the railings, and perhaps reading his inscription.

Should he meet a stranger coming from the churchyard with a quick step, he is morally convinced that the stranger is 'with a blush retiring,' as monumentally directed.
Mr.Sapsea's importance has received enhancement, for he has become Mayor of Cloisterham.

Without mayors, and many of them, it cannot be disputed that the whole framework of society--Mr.Sapsea is confident that he invented that forcible figure--would fall to pieces.