That was different.
Sylvia.
How? That was a sacrament, too. Are you afraid of a little bread and wine that a priest has said a few words over?
John.
Sylvia, don’t torment me. I tell you I can’t.
Sylvia.
[Scornfully.] I never imagined you would be superstitious. You’re frightened. You feel just like people about sitting thirteen at table. Of course it’s all nonsense, but there may be something in it.
John.
I don’t know what I feel. I only know that I, an unbeliever, can’t take part in a ceremony that was sacred to me when I believed.
Sylvia.