Wood's cries: but, regardless of this, he darted along a passage, gained the shop, and passed through an open door into the street. There was first the Avenue, which ran in a consciously elegant curve from the railway station into an undeveloped wilderness of agriculture, with big, yellow brick villas on either side, and then there was the pavement, the little clump of shops about the postoffice, and under the railway arch was a congestion of workmen’s dwellings. The touch of his lips neither thrilled nor alarmed her, because the eyes that looked into hers were clean. 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. Jackson, I could almost fancy we had met before.
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