An altar-flame in any human breast!
The Priest.
[Returning to his work.]
Such laxity ... I doubt he’s orthodox!
Schoolmaster.
[To the Friend.]
Shall we be going?... Ouch! My toe I stubbed!
[He kicks a small object, lying among the rubble, and suddenly arrested by some peculiarity in its appearance, stoops and picks it up.]
What’s this? Upon my word, a silver shrine ... [He dusts off the object.]
An Artemis ... and dated, A. U. C.... [Reckons, mentally.]