” She said as she rested her head against his chest, eyes unfocused on the fading sky. 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. His hand traveled below her loose neckline, and he cupped her round breast in his hand. ’ He scratched his chin as if he thought about it, but covertly kept a careful study of what he could see of her face. It looked very patient, she thought, and a little self-satisfied. During this movement, Jack grasped the barrel of his pistol, held in his breath, and motioned to Blueskin, who bared a long knife, to keep still.
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