For a time they walked in silence. The great untrodden world was before her still, into which no one can pass alone. The Protestant Flagellant, who whipped his soul rather than his body, who made self-denial the rack and the boot, who believed that on Sunday it was sacrilegious to smile, blasphemous to laugh! Spurlock had gone back spiritually three hundred years. ’ She stopped, her lips tightening. Please don’t tell anyone, mister.
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