"Padre, this God of yours is an impostor, His
wounds are sham wounds, His pain is all a farce!
It is I that have the right to your heart! Padre,
there is no torture you have not put me to; if
you could only know what my life has been! And
yet I would not die! I have endured it all, and
have possessed my soul in patience, because I
would come back and fight this God of yours. I
have held this purpose as a shield against my
heart, and it has saved me from madness, and from
the second death. And now, when I come back,
I find Him still in my place--this sham victim that
was crucified for six hours, forsooth, and rose
again from the dead! Padre, I have been crucified
for five years, and I, too, have risen from the
dead. What are you going to do with me?
What are you going to do with me?"
He broke down. Montanelli sat like some
stone image, or like a dead man set upright. At
first, under the fiery torrent of the Gadfly's despair,
he had quivered a little, with the automatic
shrinking of the flesh, as under the lash
of a whip; but now he was quite still.
Pages:
472
473
474
475
476
477
478
479
480
481
482
483
484
485
486
487
488
489
490
491
492
493
494
495
496