When I carried you up here like a bride, that is the way I wanted us to be, Mary Lucia. She was feeling extraordinarily well that night, so that the sense of her body was a deep delight, a realization of a gentle warmth and strength and elastic firmness. She drew a chair to the window and stared at the splendour of the tropical night. "Off!" she cried with a prolonged and piercing shriek. 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. Across that world was written in letters of light, “Endowment of Motherhood. .
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