When she spoke, her lips twitched. 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. Her relationship with John had made her the object of desire for scores of teenage boys who had dared not previously think of her in such a way. She was to be handed over with her dowry of three thousand Florins, plus her pet bird, six chickens, her mother’s fine linens, a small book of poetry. " "But Wild still lives," cried Wood.
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