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He carried her into his bedroom as she unfastened the tiny white buttons of his shirt. \"My parents. 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. Of course, it was ridiculous, this inclination to assist the fugitive, based as it was upon an intangible university idea. “Am I dull?” she said.
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