"Ho, no," replied Jack. “I think that I will leave this letter for him,” she said. 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. Only au revoir. He seemed to charge her with the ruin of their situation. “But Sebastian! I need them!” He smiled, not a smile of comfort, but a smile of terrible menace.
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