You will hate me for
it--never love me again! . . . No, listen! . . .
Supposing your father were--not what you imagine him to be? . . .
MARY. Uncle, didn't you just say . . .
VICAR. Supposing that wretched man you spoke with just now were
right, after all! What would you say?
MARY. Uncle! . . .
VICAR. Supposing he were one upon whom a11 the curses of the world
had been most cruelly visited--his poor body scarred and graven out
of human semblance; his soul the prey of hate and bitterness; his
immortal spirit tortured and twisted away from every memory of God!
What would you say?
MARY. Uncle, it would be terrible--terrible!
VICAR. What will you say, then, to the man who has brought him to
such ruin? What will you say to that man being God's priest? What
word of loathing have you for the thief who has stolen the love of
another man's child, for the murderer who has slain his brother's
soul?
MARY. Uncle, do you mean . . . do you mean . . .
VICAR. I mean that I am the man!
MARY. You! . . .
AUNTIE [passionately].
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