” She eyed him scornfully. 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. Pennsylvania Dutch. Spurling, for so was she named, had a warm nut-brown complexion, almost as dark as a Creole; and a moustache on her upper lip, that would have done no discredit to the oldest dragoon in the King's service. "I shall want a bottle or two of sack, and a flask of usquebaugh. ” Anna was silent. Possessed of you, I shall have a treasure such as kings could not boast.
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