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I felt somehow I’d hurt you. I can’t stand it. ‘Beg pardon, miss, but I’m told as how—’ She broke off, her eyes widening, her jaw dropping open. 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. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth in paragraph 1. I felt—wrapped in thick cobwebs. We men are like children. He took a sip of punch and commenced his relation. ’ She stopped, her lips tightening. By this time Capes’ hair had bleached nearly white, and his skin had become a skin of red copper shot with gold. “I’ve tried to make words tell it.
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