Occasionally the mere fact of lying in bed became unendurable, and she rolled out and marched about her room and whispered abuse of herself—usually until she hit against some article of furniture. 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. The Robbery in Willesden Church. "However, I'll refresh your memory. Something, then, to appease the wrath of God; something to blunt this persistent agony. The fact that it was her trusted friend making illicit love to her remained, in spite of all her effort, an insignificant thing in her mind. “Hand me the Jergens lotion, will you? How’d it go with John?” She asked. She was not altogether surprised when she found a deer, gutted of its entrails and strung with a garland of flowers, on the cave’s doorstep one humid summer morning. By a tacit agreement they ignored the significant thing between them, ignored the slipping away of the ground on which they had stood together hitherto.
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