"You are going to die," he said, "you are going to die. You have only a few more minutes to live. Submit."
"No," said the man.
The black-robed priest caught hold of both his hands.
"Submit. No discussion. You are losing precious time. All your reasoning is of no account. We are alone, you and I before God."
He shook his head with the low bulging forehead, the prominent fleshy nose, wide moist nostrils dark with snuff, thin yellow lips like twine tight across two projecting teeth that showed by themselves in the darkness. There were lines on his forehead and between his eyebrows and around his mouth. His cheeks and chin were covered with a grey layer.
"I represent God," he said. "You are in my presence as if you were in the presence of God. Simply say 'I believe,' and I will absolve you. 'I believe,' that is all. The rest makes no difference to me."
He bent lower and lower, almost gluing his face to that of the dying man, trying to plant his absolution like a blow.
"Simply say with me, 'Our Father, who art in heaven.' I do not ask you to do anything else."
The sick man's face contracted.
"No—no!"