The next morning she went out with her post-office savings bank-book, and telegraphed for a warrant to draw out all the money she had in the world. 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. I was rude and stupid. Water sprung from the corners of the school roof, turning it into a gigantic fountain. “I wonder which of us is right,” she said. ’ ‘Don’t count on it.
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