"Strange! You are not a believer, I think? Do you pray?"
"I haven't truly prayed since my father and mother were murdered.... Is not conscience enough?"
Shawn released him and sighed and turned away. "You spoke of slavery. Ah, Beneen, don't you see, all this is but prologue? I serve a great end. I spoke to you of the western sea and the new lands, and I did see the thought strike fire in you, don't try to deny it. Why, I'd not go on the account, nor meddle with this rabble, nor do violence to anyone, if I could help it. Mother of God, two or three fine ships, a handful of brave men, say fifty, sixty—it needs no more. We need no women—we'll take us native women in the new lands and raise up a new breed of men, and they shall be like gods. You must see it, Beneen, the way I have no choice?"
"I do see—as my father and my mother taught me, as I learned from my tutor and my great-uncle, and above all from my brother, whose understanding is better than mine—I do see, Mr. Shawn, that you cannot serve a good end by evil means."
"Ochone!—a Puritan indeed but very young, now that's no lie. I know that talk, that doctrine, Ben, know it of old, a stick to beat the young and no truth in it, and so I deny it altogether."
"I will affirm it while I live. Damnation, Mr. Shawn, it's no article of faith, only a plain observation any man can make. Your great end lies in the future, but the future grows from the present. The evil you do in the present can only generate evil in the future and not the good end you dream of."
"Puritan and philosopher! Now I have seen flowers growing from a dunghill."
"They grow from the seed of other flowers and would do so in common ground. The dunghill itself only makes a stink."
"Feeds them, does it not?"
"I dare say nothing's purely good or purely evil. What's good in the dunghill feeds them, the rest is a stink."