“Do you know,” she confessed, “I never thought of that?” He looked at her as though doubting even now whether she could possibly be in earnest. Sebastian rose from the tomb. “Stop! Don’t put your face there. Then her head disappeared suddenly in her hands, and her shoulders shook violently. 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. ‘My name’s NOT More, Mr.
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