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. “Just do it. “I have noticed,” he said, “that you seem to delight in taking a topsy-turvy view of life. Michelle smiled. Her personal maidservant, the first she had ever had in her life, was joyful for her. “You poor child!” he said; “don’t you see the infinite folly of these proceedings? Think! Think of the love and affection you abandon! Think of your aunt, a second mother to you.
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