“How can we force anyone to do anything? Our whole power is that people come to us, to Cave voluntarily because they feel here, at last, is the answer.” Paul might very well have been sincere: there is no way of determining, even now.
“Well, remember, Paul, that you will do more good than harm by attempting to supplant old dogmas and customs with new dogmas. It will be the same in the end except that the old is less militant, less dangerous than a new law imposed by enthusiasts.”
“Don’t say 'you.’ Say 'we.’ You’re as much a part of this as I am. After all you’re a director. You’ve got a say-so in these matters. Just speak up Friday.” Paul was suddenly genial and placating. “I don’t pretend I’ve got all the answers. I’m just talking off the top of my head, like they say.”
A member of the team burst into the office with the news that Bishop Winston was outside.
“Now it starts,” said Paul with a grimace.
The Bishop did not recognize me as we passed one another in the office. He looked grim and he was wearing clerical garb.
“He’s too late,” said a lean youth, nodding at the churchman’s back.
“Professional con-men,” said his companion with disgust. “They’ve had their day.”
And with that in my ears, I walked out into the snow-swirling street, into the bleak opening of the new year, of Cave’s year.
I was more alarmed than ever by what Paul had told me and by what I heard on every side. In drugstores and bars and restaurants, people talked of Cave. I could even tell when I did not hear the name that it was of him they spoke: a certain intentness, a great curiosity, a wonder. In the bookstores, copies of my introduction were displayed with large blown-up photographs of Cave to accompany them.