The cook tried to ply her with spiced meat and fish soup. Below was an uninspiring street, a thoroughfare of boarding-houses and apartments. And now she was discovering that even Nature was something of a liar, with her mirages and her horizons. Having accomplished his intent, Gerald let the lad go and had himself driven back to Stratton Street. ” “Did I?” she said. 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.
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