. The man looked closely at Anna as she crossed the footway, and as he held her skirt from the wheel he pressed something into her hand. The agony on the sands now ceased to puzzle her. 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. She had a bittersweet fragrance, like dusty books and honeysuckle. But always this new phase in life which civilization called convention threw up barrier after barrier. "I could not make him understand. ” Anna had reached the house where she lodged, but she hesitated on the doorstep. " "Jack's mother?" exclaimed the young man.
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