He wanted to turn his gaze away at this talk of love between men, but couldn’t; he knew it was the last he would see of this flawed priest who had become so dear to him so quickly. This was harder than the comte’s death. For all his goodness, the comte was not gentle; he was of this world, and of the brutality of the world. This man, Matthieu Hanicotte, seemed to have been misplaced here. He hoped there was wine in his Heaven. Could a sodomite attain to Heaven? He remembered the priest holding the girl up out of the water as the abominations stung the life from him. Hoc est corpus meum. If
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