Читать книгу Some Do Not... онлайн

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Father Consett put his hand beneath the tail of his coat.

'Sylvia Tietjens,' he said, 'in my pistol pocket I've a little bottle of holy water which I carry for such occasions. What if I was to throw two drops of it over you and cry: Exorcizo to Ashtaroth in nomine?...

She erected her body above her skirts on the sofa, stiffened like a snake's neck above its coils. Her face was quite pallid, her eyes staring out.

'You...you daren't,' she said. 'To me...an outrage!' Her feet slid slowly to the floor; she measured the distance to the doorway with her eyes. 'You daren't,' she said again; 'I'd denounce you to the Bishop...'

'It's little the Bishop would help you with them burning into your skin,' the priest said. 'Go away, I bid you, and say a Hail Mary or two. Ye need them. Ye'll not talk of corrupting a little child before me again.'

'I won't,' Sylvia said. 'I shouldn't have...'

Her black figure showed in silhouette against the open doorway.

When the door was closed upon them, Mrs Satterthwaite said: