Good-looking girl. I was certain of it. The door opened. 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. She thought of leaving the Beck house less and less these days, though the suitcase remained packed underneath her creaky bed.
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