You shall not go! . . .
ROBERT. Why, wot is there to fear? Ain't it worth while, to move
away that load o' muck!
VICAR. The stench--the horror--the darkness . . .
ROBERT. What's it matter, if the comrides up above 'av' light an'
joy an' a breath of 'olesome air to sing by? . . .
VICAR. Hour by hour--dying--alone . . .
ROBERT. The comrides up in the spans an arches, joinin' 'ands . . .
VICAR. Fainter and fainter, below there, and at last--an endless
silence! . . .
ROBERT. 'Igh in the dome, the 'ammerin's of the comrides as 'av'
climbed aloft!
AUNTIE. William, there is yet one other way! . . .
VICAR. Yes, yes, I see: I see! . . . [To ROBERT]. Then--you mean
to go?
ROBERT. By 'Eaven, yus!
VICAR. Then, by God and all the powers of grace, you shall not go
alone! Off with these lies and make-believes! Off with these
prisoner's shackles! They cramp, they stifle me! Freedom!
Freedom! This is no priest's work--it calls for a man! . . .
[He tears off his parson's coat and collar, casting them furiously
aside.
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