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. They began the evening like usual, driving down highways and byways. Ramage demurred. “It may be true, but it isn’t quite what I have in mind. Sure, I lose one occasionally—if he stays in New York.
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