Gerald raised a questioning eyebrow. ‘Take this. Angelina's distress over these mischances was pathetic. Too many. 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. DeSoto, seemed to notice her thoroughly. She liked his face; it had on it the suggestion of gentleness, of fineness. Perhaps the sunken cheeks and the protruding cheekbones gave her this impression.
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