She paced restlessly to the door and back again, biting her tongue on the hot words begging to be uttered. " But this difficulty was only overcome to be succeeded by one still greater. . ” “Cooped up!” he cried. 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.
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