” “Has my sister been unkind to you?” “The family,” he declared, “has not treated me with consideration. She lived, he noted, very carelessly. Suffer me to precede you. 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. Did you really doubt if I knew?” “No. ‘Your wife?’ ‘My wife,’ he repeated, rising also, his smile mocking her. The Storm. She became as The Tigress, a free thing. She propped a pillow against his padded headboard and sat herself into a stiff upright position, legs expertly crossed. ‘I’m on your side.
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