It was wonderful to think this thing had lived, had felt and suffered. At length, he fell down on the road, fully expecting each moment would prove his last. From under his pillow he dragged forth the key to the trunk. *** Madame la Comtesse de St Erme regarded the English major with a lacklustre eye, Gerald thought. The stranger started at the touch, and spoke. “You needn’t be worried,” she said quietly. 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.
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