Her father was right: Ruth must never know. You'll find her at Black Mary's Hole. ’ Madame ventured a glance up at his face, and fluttered her lashes. Every moment or two he bent over his patient. 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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