No: far worse--for an idolater!
AUNTIE. William . . .
VICAR. What else but idolatry is this precious husband-worship you
have set up in your heart--you and all the women of your kind? You
barter away your own souls in the service of it: you build up your
idols in the fashion of your own respectable desires: you struggle
silently amongst yourselves, one against another, to push your own
god foremost in the miserable little pantheon of prigs and
hypocrites you have created!
AUNTIE [roused]. It is for your own good we do it!
VICAR. Our own good! What have you made of me? You have plucked
me down from whatever native godhead I had by gift of heaven, and
hewed and hacked me into the semblance of your own idolatrous
imagination! By God, it shall go on no longer! If you have made
me less than a man, at least I will prove myself to be a priest!
AUNTIE. Do you call it a priest's work to . . .
VICAR. It is _my_ work to deliver you and me from the bondage of
lies! Can't you see, woman, that God and Mammon are about us,
fighting for our souls?
AUNTIE [determinedly].
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