We're in the Twentieth Century now, you know, and everybody knows that that kind of thing is simply impossible.Only an old maid or two...Why, I don't believe you believe in it really, father.
That's why you're so keen on making me believe.But I don't; it's no use.You can't make me.I don't believe there's any God at all.If there were a God he'd let a fellow have more free will..."He was interrupted by an extraordinary cry.He turned to see his father standing, one hand pressed back on the chair, his face white, his eyes black and empty, like sightless eyes.
"Martin! That's blasphemy!...Take care! Take care!...Oh, my son, my son!..."Then he suddenly collapsed backwards, crouching on to the chair as though he were trying to flee from some danger.Martin sprang towards him.He caught him round the body, holding him to him--something was leaping like a furious animal inside his father's breast.
"What is it?" he cried, desperately frightened.
"It's my heart," Warlock answered in a voice very soft and distant.
"Bad...Excitement...Ring that bell...Amy..."A moment later Amy entered.She came quickly into the room, she said nothing--only gave Martin one look.
She gave her father something from a little bottle, kneeling in front of him.
At last she turned to her brother."You'd better go," she said."You can do nothing here."Miserable, repentant, feeling as though he had no place in the world and yet eager too to defend himself, he left the room.