“And as for praying for faith—this sort of monologue is about as near as any one of my sort ever gets to prayer. Aren’t I asking—asking plainly now?...
“We’ve all been mixing our ideas, and we’ve got intellectual hot coppers—every blessed one of us....
“A confusion of motives—that’s what I am!...
“There is this absurd craving for Mr. Capes—the ‘Capes crave,’ they would call it in America. Why do I want him so badly? Why do I want him, and think about him, and fail to get away from him?
“It isn’t all of me.
“The first person you love, Ann Veronica, is yourself—get hold of that! The soul you have to save is Ann Veronica’s soul....”
She knelt upon the floor of her cell and clasped her hands, and remained for a long time in silence.
“Oh, God!” she said at last, “how I wish I had been taught to pray!”
Part 3
She had some idea of putting these subtle and difficult issues to the chaplain when she was warned of his advent. But she had not reckoned with the etiquette of Canongate. She got up, as she had been told to do, at his appearance, and he amazed her by sitting down, according to custom, on her stool. He still wore his hat, to show that the days of miracles and Christ being civil to sinners are over forever. She perceived that his countenance was only composed by a great effort, his features severely compressed. He was ruffled, and his ears were red, no doubt from some adjacent controversy. He classified her as he seated himself.