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]. It is not true! It is a lie! It's
entirely your father's own fault!

MARY. I don't understand. Why should Uncle William lie to me?

AUNTIE. He is overwrought: he is ill. It is like your uncle