ROBERT. You call that sacrifice?—It's fun: not 'arf!
VICAR. I had rather see the church itself . . .
ROBERT. What, you call yourself a clergyman!
VICAR. I call myself nothing: I am nothing—less than nothing in all this living world!
ROBERT. By God, but I call myself summat—I'M THE DRAIN-MAN,
THAT'S WOT I AM!
VICAR [feverishly]. You shall not go! . . .
ROBERT. Why, wot is there to fear? Ain't it worth while, to move away that load o' muck!
VICAR. The stench—the horror—the darkness . . .
ROBERT. What's it matter, if the comrides up above 'av' light an' joy an' a breath of 'olesome air to sing by? . . .
VICAR. Hour by hour—dying—alone . . .