Well?
Sylvia.
Your mother asked me to tell you of your father’s death. I concealed it from you. I told you a whole tissue of lies. I traded deliberately on your tenderness for your father. I was horrified at myself. It was my only chance of getting you to take the Communion.
John.
If you’d had any affection for me, you couldn’t have done such an abominable thing. If you’d had any respect for me you couldn’t have done it.
Sylvia.
John.
Be quiet! You’ve insisted on talking about it, and now, by God, you’re going to listen to me. Do you know what I felt? Shame. When I took the bread and the wine, I thought they’d choke me. Because once I believed so devoutly it seemed to me that I was doing an awful thing. Deliberately, with full knowledge of what I was doing, I told a dirty lie. And I feel dirty to the depths of my soul.
Sylvia.