She saw the moonlit waters, the black shadow of the proa, the moon-fire that ran down the far edge of the bellying sail, the silent natives: no sound except the slapping of the outrigger and the low sibilant murmur of water falling away from the sides—and the beating of her heart. From one window the beach was always visible; from another, the stores. 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. So he made merry at the dinner table, told comic stories, and was astonished at the readiness with which she grasped the comic side of life. ” Lucy said. E. “There are two things to be done,” he said softly to himself.
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