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 don’t, as a matter of fact,’ Gerald said decidedly, a frown creasing his brow. He thought of his wealth for once from a different point of view. ‘And you know, my dear, I do think you must make up your mind to beard this wretched grandfather of yours. " "Zounds!" cried Marvel, "I—" "Hush!" whispered the tapstress, "or I retract my promise. ” She turned away. ‘But who was he, Gerald?’ ‘A damned condottiere,’ exploded Gerald, forgetting his company.
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