"No, no—in nothing."
"Yes," said Patty, shaking her head solemnly, "he has brought you up an atheist, never to go to church, not even on Christmas Day; and to read Voltaire"—with a shudder.
"Do you go to church, Patty? 'Tis handy enough to your lodgings."
"Oh, I am too tired of a Sunday morning, after acting six nights in a week; for if Bellamy and Pritchard are out of the bill and going out a-visiting, and strutting and grimacing in fine company, there's always a part for a scrub like me; and if I'm not in the play I'm in the burletta."
"And do you think you're any wickeder for not going to church twice every Sunday?"
"I always go at Christmas and at Easter," protested Patty, "and I feel myself a better woman for going. You've been brought up to hate religion."
"No, Patty, only to hate the fuss that's made about it, and the cruelties men have done to each other, ever since the world began, in its name."
"I wouldn't read Voltaire if I was you," said Patty. "The General told me 'twas an impious, indecent book."
"Voltaire is the author of more than forty books, Patty."
"Oh, is it an author? I thought 'twas the name of a novel, like 'Tom Jones,' only more impudent."