MANSON. I can soon remedy that, sir. My religion is very simple.
I love God and all my brothers.
VICAR [after a pause]. God and your brothers . . .
MANSON. Yes, sir: _all_ of them.
[The VICAR stands thoughtful for a moment. He places the paten on
the table, beside him.]
VICAR [slowly]. That is not always so easy, Manson; but it is my
creed, too.
MANSON. Then-- Brother!
[Rapt in thought, the VICAR takes his profferred hand mechanically.]
[MARY enters. She is a slim young girl in her teens, the picture
of rosy sweetness and health.]
MARY. Good-morning, Uncle William! Oh! . . . I suppose you're
Manson? I must say you look simply ripping! How do you do? My
name's Mary. [She offers her hand.]
MANSON [kissing it]. A very dear name, too!
MARY [embarrassed, blurting]. We were wondering last night about
your religion. I said . . .
VICAR. Mary, my child . . .
MARY. You don't _look_ like a cannibal. After all, even the devil
isn't as black as he's . . . Oh, I beg your pardon: perhaps I'm
rude.
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