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 would never, never go back. His attitude toward her was purely intellectual, free of any sentimentality, utterly selfish. He regarded that perennial miracle of pinning with wrathful eyes. My garden-close would be a better thing than that. "I wonder if you will understand what this kindness means to me? I am so terribly wise—and so wofully ignorant!" CHAPTER XII The doctor shifted his books and magazines to the crook of his elbow. No: I must face it out. ” “We’ve come past it, miss,” the man answered, with a note of finality in his gruff voice.
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