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“I have given it up,” she answered. 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 ignored it until it repeated itself. “Beautiful these autumn flowers are,” said Ann Veronica, in a wide, uncomfortable pause. “I’ve never been prone to them. Indeed, she did not want to think of him as loving her.
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