She recalled how she had stretched out her arms toward the magic blue horizon. But he seized the chance to entrap her fingers, fan and all, and look deeply into her eyes. For a time he would be the grim Protestant Flagellant, pursuing the idea of self-castigation. Nobody ever called me John, that I recollect. “Slavery! Downtroddenness! When I think of it I feel all over boot marks— men’s boots. “You are so inherently gallant, John, so pure of heart.
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