He had been dreaming of Ruth—an old recurrency of that dream he had had in Canton, of Ruth leading him to the top of the mountain. John looked at his feet bashfully. Soup would help you feel better, soup and hot tea. S. She took a deep breath. 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. They came teeming distressfully through her aching brain: “A man can kick, his skirts don’t tear; A man scores always, everywhere.
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