“It’s because you don’t know anything,” he said violently, harshly. “Laugh at what you know, not at what you don’t know.”
“What don’t I know?”
“What things mean.”
“And what does it mean?”
He was reluctant to answer her. He found it difficult.
“What does it mean?” she insisted.
“It means the triumph of the Resurrection.”
She hesitated, baffled, a fear came upon her. What were these things? Something dark and powerful seemed to extend before her. Was it wonderful after all?
But no—she refused it.
“Whatever it may pretend to mean, what it is is a silly absurd toy-lamb with a Christmas-tree flag ledged on its paw—and if it wants to mean anything else, it must look different from that.”