“That leaves me,” Root says. “I’ll marry her, and she’ll have a British passport. Best in the world.” “Huh,” Shaftoe says, “how does that square with your being a celibate monk or priest or whatever the fuck you supposedly are?” Root says, “I’m supposed to be celibate—” “But you’re not,” Shaftoe reminds him. “But God’s forgiveness is infinite,” Root fires back, winning the point. “So, as I was saying, I’m supposed to be celibate—but that doesn’t mean I can’t get married. As long as I don’t consummate the marriage.
