"What's the matter, lad, after all the wonderful fireworks at lunch?" Spurlock beheld McClintock standing beside him. The bed was hard beyond any experience of hers, the bed-clothes coarse and insufficient, the cell at once cold and stuffy. She softened her tone and scrambled for the right words. But she no longer obsessed over heresy, no longer did she feel cursed by God. She did not want to seem to shrink from conversation, but all sorts of odd questions were running through her mind. Let us have no more of this humbug. He became primitive, literal in his conception; the ramifications were, for the nonce, fairly relegated to limbo. This incredible scene robbed him of the sense of locomotion.
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