"Your mother was quite right," said Mr Maguire; "and I hope that you will never forget or neglect your parent's precepts. I'm not meaning to judge you, Miss Todd—"
"But that's just what you are meaning to do, Mr Maguire."
"Not at all; very far from it. We've all got our wickednesses and imperfections."
"No, no, not you, Mr Maguire. Mrs Fuzzybell, you don't think that Mr Maguire has any wickednesses and imperfections?"
"I'm sure I don't know," said Mrs Fuzzybell, tossing her head.
"Miss Todd," said Mr Maguire, "when I look into my own heart, I see well how black it is. It is full of iniquity; it is a grievous sore that is ever running, and will not be purified."
"Gracious me, how unpleasant!" said Miss Todd.
"I trust that there is no one here who has not a sense of her own wickedness."
"Or of his," said Miss Todd.
"Or of his," and Mr Maguire looked very hard at Mr Fuzzybell. Mr Fuzzybell was a quiet, tame old gentleman, who followed his wife's heels about wherever she went; but even he, when attacked in this way, became very fierce, and looked back at Mr Maguire quite as severely as Mr Maguire looked at him.