And now," she added, glancing contemptuously at the woollen-draper, "I'll go to Jack Sheppard. It was supposed he was drowned in crossing the river, as his body had never been found. Yes, this was a little better. And then, for the first time, Wood noticed a small stream of blood coursing slowly down her cheek. Perhaps he had had money in the coat, back in Hong-Kong, and had been robbed without knowing it. 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. Miss Mary to the life, I said, and so she is.
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