“Your sister’s future is at stake. 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. There was some justification for her annoyance, for negotiation of the secret passage demanded either a stout heart, or a desperate one. " "Poor soul!—poor soul!" groaned Wood, brushing the tears from his vision. “They would spoil every chance. You mustn’t do things like that. She treaded down the hall swiftly but stopped abruptly when she heard a voice in back of her.
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