” He handed her the phone reluctantly, barely masking his mild disgust. I'll lay my life he's gone. 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. The touch of his lips neither thrilled nor alarmed her, because the eyes that looked into hers were clean.
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