A wealthy man, addicted to his pleasure and to his profits, finds religion to be a traffic so entangled, and of so many piddling accounts, that of all mysteries he cannot skill to keep a stock going upon that trade. God help them! He bit off the rest of the fig and flung away the butt. The appearance was full upon us that I had already had to deal with here: Peter Quint had come into view like a sentinel before a prison. And that's why, to share them-" I faltered myself with the horror of it.
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