” “But I didn’t lose it that way, did I?” She grew hysterical. 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. “I want two words—with Miss Pellissier alone,” Hill pleaded. His manner was deferential, even eager. I'll take off your irons—for I guess that's the reason why you want the hammer and file—on one condition. She was aware of people—her aunt, her father, her fellow-students, friends, and neighbors— moving about outside this glowing secret, very much as an actor is aware of the dim audience beyond the barrier of the footlights.
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