She said, ‘You . . . you . . .’ ‘Me?’ ‘You are the matter.’ He moved towards her with infinite caution, as if she were an animal who distrusted him. He felt weak with longing. He said, ‘My dear, why me . . . ?’ She said furiously, ‘They laugh at me.’ ‘Because of me?’ She said, ‘Everyone else has a father . . . who works.’ ‘I work too.’ ‘You’re a priest, aren’t you?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘Pedro says you aren’t a man. You aren’t any good for women.’ She said, ‘I don’t know what he means.’ ‘I don’t suppose he knows himself.’ ‘Oh, yes he does,’ she said. ‘He’s ten. And I want to know. You’re going away, aren’t
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