She dreaded leaving him for the night, but separated herself finally. 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. It had felt wonderful to pick up the fiddle again. “I’ve been playing since I was five, Lucy! You’re just more talented than I am.
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