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That a lashing with knotted cords, wielded by women, is funny will never occur to the Priest of Bonbon. For it was he who was thus scourged. But set in the headlines of the New York World, this bit of medieval calisthenics requires a civilized smile at the futility of ancient tortures.
Seek but the neighbor column for effective wrath. There is vengeance, not merely wreaked but wrought. And, as one observes the accused patrolman and discerns how he writhes his swollen eyeballs to watch both his civilian accuser and the police lieutenant, how gaily his hand trembles as the lieutenant bends to record "assault" upon the ledger, how he whips out his pistol and spures the flame, one cannot but admire the felicitous workmanship, polished, final.
It is bootieg and gunpowder that own these graces. Manifest is their transcendence over olden methods. The priest was but mutilated. The civilian was ended. Let this be a lesson to the amazon "Order of Our Lady of Tears" when next they dislike a prelate.
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