He
could not even repeat his Ave Maria without producing sinister
crepitations from his gullet. And now he had crowned all by this
surpassing act of imprudence. If he had only kept his mouth shut, like
everybody else. But there! What could you expect from a fool?
A genuine murderer--it was most irreligious, of course. Still, some
homicides were fairly justifiable, others almost meritorious; and a
criminal of this kind showed, in every case, undeniable traces of
manliness; one could not help respecting him in an oblique sort of
fashion. But a fool! Torquemada, the zealous priest, the man of God,
could never quite repress the promptings of his blood. He had all the
fanatic's appreciation of violent methods; all the Southerner's
fondness for a miscreant, and contempt for a simpleton. A mere
fool--what's the use of him on earth? Had the culprit been any ordinary
Christian, His Reverence would not have dreamt of interfering; gladly
would he have let him spend the remainder of his day sin prison which
everybody knew to be the best place for stupid people--it kept them out
of mischief.
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