The gods suffer men of your calibre to exist, and they
must know why. But I tell you this, though you may find it even
harder to understand. Science has her altars, and her priests.
I was one, serving an altar which you defiled. And by God,
Peter Farrell, upholsterer, the priest will pursue!'
"He drew back to the end of the seat and fairly wilted.
His terror had no more dignity than a sheep's. He cast an eye
about for help. There was none. 'You're mad!' he quavered.
'If we were in England now--What is it you're threatening?'
"'Nothing that you could take hold of, to swear information
against me,' I answered, 'even if you were in England now--now
that April's here. Or is it May? I shall probably end by
killing you; but I have tested my forbearance, and now know that
it will happen at my own time, place, and convenient
opportunity. That's a threat, eh? Well, there's no hurry about
it, and you couldn't do anything with it, even at home in merry
England. You couldn't put up a case that you go in bodily fear
of me--as you're beginning to do--when I can call Caffyn
('Clever fellow, Caffyn!') to witness that only last night you
desired no end to our acquaintance.
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