"Where shall I fly?" exclaimed the lady, bewildered with terror. ’ He glanced at the portrait behind her. Her heart in her mouth, hoping against hope, Melusine made her way back to where she had left the boy. 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. "Ah!" ejaculated Mrs.
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