Читать книгу Some Do Not... онлайн

68 страница из 107

Was it necessary to threaten her with that? You know best, of course. It seems rather strong to me.'

'It's a hair from the dog that's bit her,' the priest said. 'She's a silly girl. She's been playing at black masses along with that Mrs Profumo and the fellow whose name I can't remember. You could tell that. They cut the throat of a white kid and splash its blood about...That was at the back of her mind...It's not very serious. A parcel of silly, idle girls. It's not much more than palmistry or fortune-telling to them if one has to weigh it, for all its ugliness, as a sin. As far as their volition goes, and it's volition that's the essence of prayer, black or white...But it was at the back of her mind, and she won't forget to-night.'

'Of course, that's your affair, Father,' Mrs Satterthwaite said lazily. 'You hit her pretty hard. I don't suppose she's ever been hit so hard. What was it you wouldn't tell her?'

'Only,' the priest said, 'I wouldn't tell her because the thought's best not put in her head...But her hell on earth will come when her husband goes running, blind, head down, mad after another woman.'