Algarcife's brow wrinkled in sudden irritation. "That I have given up long ago," he answered. "If I ever had any, it was an ingrafted product. What I do mean is that I give up the Church—that I give up theology—that I give up religion."
The other flinched suddenly. He put out one frail, white hand as if in protest.
"I—I cannot believe it," he said.
"And yet I have been honest."
"Honest! Yes, I suppose so. Honest—" he lifted the paper from the table and unfolded it mechanically. "And yet you could write this?"
Anthony shook his head impatiently. "I was but a special pleader with the side assigned, and you knew it."
"But I did not know your power—nor do you. It convinced me—convinced me, though I came with the knowledge that your words were empty—empty and rotten—"
"They were words. The case was given me, and I defended it as a lawyer defends a client. What else could I do?"
Father Speares sighed and passed his hand across his brow.
"It is not the first disappointment of my life," he said, "but it is the greatest."