For fifteen years!—so long as I can remember! All I wanted was a little love, a caress now and then. It was obvious that he had waited for her. 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. They are very good people, you know. I want to tell every one. None of this by-play escaped Ruth, whose sense of humour needed no developing.
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