Why not? Quite willing. His name was Marvel, and his avocation, which was as repulsive as his looks, was that of public executioner. 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. There was a gallows erected, and a great mob round it—thousands of people, and all with white faces like corpses. "He is all alone.
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