“Forgive you, indeed. " "So do I!" she cried; "for then you would have been really my brother. 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. “Don’t you understand, Nigel,” she said softly, “that it was precisely for this I have worked so hard. ‘I’ll handle her better alone. And don’t talk until we’re well out of earshot.
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