So, instead, they talked of dancing and what it might mean in a human life. "And I," muttered Jack. Manning. 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. Wood's displeasure; and he was the more readily induced to do this, as the conversation began to turn upon his own affairs. There were mysterious sounds, all of them musical.
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