TEMPTER. Well, that may be. (Pause.) Do you think _I_ look good?

STRANGER. I can't say I do.

TEMPTER. You look extremely wicked, too! Do you know why we look
like that?

STRANGER. No.

TEMPTER. The hate and malice of our fellow human beings have
fastened themselves on us. Up there, you know, there are real
saints, who've never done anything wicked themselves, but who
suffer for others, for relations, who've committed unexpiated sins.
Those angels, who've taken the depravity of others on themselves,
really resemble bandits. What do you say to that?

STRANGER. I don't know who you are; but you're the first to answer
questions that might reconcile me to life. You are. ...

TEMPTER. Well, say it!

STRANGER. The deliverer!

TEMPTER. And therefore. ...?

STRANGER. Therefore you've been given a vulture. ... But listen,
have you ever thought that there's as good a reason for this as for
everything else? Granted the earth's a prison, on which dangerous
prisoners are confined--is it a good thing to set them free? Is it
right?