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. Good-bye, for the pressent—ha! ha!" And, laughing loudly at his own facetiousness, he quitted the Lodge. There were shadows under his eyes. I knew him in spite of his dress. "You have both," replied Wood, fervently.
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