Then he remembered that she was Anna’s sister. McClintock will have some. 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. "How would you like a job on a copra plantation?" he asked, irrelevantly to the thoughts crowding one another in his mind. On that night,—that fatal night,—Winifred crushed all the hopes that were rising in my heart.
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