From SIR NIGEL by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

Page 132
To his pure and knightly soul not Edith alone, but every woman, sat high and aloof, enthroned and 
exalted, with a thousand mystic excellencies and virtues which raised her far above the rude 
world of man.  There was a joy in contact with them; and yet there was fear, fear lest his own 
unworthiness, his untrained tongue or rougher ways should in some way break rudely upon this 
delicate and tender thing.

Page 174
That night they slept in a sordid inn, overrun with rats and with fleas, one mile south of the 
hamlet of Mayfield.  Aylward scratched vigorously and cursed with fervour.  Nigel lay without 
movement or sound.  To the man who had learned the old rule of chivalry there were no small ills 
in life.  It was beneath the dignity of his soul to stoop to observe them.  Cold and heat, hunger and 
thirst, such things did not exist for the gentleman.  The armour of his soul was so complete that it 
was proof not only against the great ills of life but even against the small ones; so the flea-bitten 
Nigel lay grimly still while Aylward writhed upon his couch.