CONFESSOR. What an unhappy soul he is....
STRANGER. A damned one too!
CONFESSOR. No! (To the LADY.) Say something good of him.
LADY. He won't believe it, if I do; he only believes evil!
CONFESSOR. Then I shall have to say it. A beggar once came and asked him for a drink of water; but he gave me wine instead and let me sit at his table. You remember that?
STRANGER. No. I don't load my memory with such trifles.
CONFESSOR. Pride! Pride!
STRANGER. Call it pride, if you like. It's the last vestige of our god-like origin. Let's go, before it grows dark.
CONFESSOR. 'For the whole world shined with clear light and none were hindered in their labour. Over these only was spread a heavy night, an image of darkness which should afterward receive them; but yet were they unto themselves more grievous than the darkness.'
LADY. Don't hurt him!