Sections and pages had been pasted together, and all through both Testaments a word had been blotted out. Miss Ellicot pursed her lips and sat a little more upright. She was consumed by misery and hate. At this juncture, the sound of oars reached his ears, and he perceived Mr. But to confess about Gerald— no, a thousand times. 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. He is the kind of man who would much prefer a little dust in his eyes.
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