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. ‘I’ll take wine,’ the lady said briefly, turning back instantly to Hilary. "I have no sympathy," replied Prudence, "with a man who deliberately fuddles himself with strong drink. ‘Well, she’d better learn fast if she wants any truck with me. A tall, clean-shaven man came out and walked rapidly through the room, exchanging greetings right and left, but evidently anxious to avoid being detained. She was an indignant queen, no doubt she was alarmed and disgusted within limits; but she was highly excited, and there was something, some low adventurous strain in her being, some element, subtle at least if base, going about the rioting ways and crowded insurgent meeting-places of her mind declaring that the whole affair was after all—they are the only words that express it—a very great lark indeed. It’s just like your Splendid Pride to do it.
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