"What books do you mean?"
"Forbidden books. Have you been reading any?"
"No; not one."
"Your sins are remitted. Stand up!"
I glanced at his face in amazement. He looked thoughtful and kind. I felt uneasy, conscience-stricken. In sending me to confession, my employers had spoken about its terrors, impressing on me to confess honestly even my slightest sins.
"I have thrown stones at your summer-house," I deposed.
The priest raised his head and, looking past me, said:
"That was very wrong. Now go!"
"And at your dog."
"Next!" called out Father Dorimedont, still looking past me.