But when I said that about a descent into hell I was not
swearing. I was in earnest, like a preacher.
MRS KNOX. A preacher utters them in a reverent tone of voice.
MARGARET. I know: the tone that shews they dont mean anything real
to him. They usent to mean anything real to me. Now hell is as real
to me as a turnip; and I suppose I shall always speak of it like that.
Anyhow, Ive been there; and it seems to me now that nothing is worth
doing but redeeming people from it.
MRS KNOX. They are redeemed already if they choose to believe it.
MARGARET. Whats the use of that if they dont choose to believe it?
You dont believe it yourself, or you wouldnt pay policemen to twist
their arms. Whats the good of pretending? Thats all our
respectability is, pretending, pretending, pretending. Thank heaven
Ive had it knocked out of me once for all!
MRS KNOX. [greatly agitated] Margaret: dont talk like that. I
cant bear to hear you talking wickedly. I can bear to hear the
children of this world talking vainly and foolishly in the language of
this world. But when I hear you justifying your wickedness in the
words of grace, it's too horrible: it sounds like the devil making
fun of religion. Ive tried to bring you up to learn the happiness of
religion. Ive waited for you to find out that happiness is within
ourselves and doesnt come from outward pleasures. Ive prayed oftener
than you think that you might be enlightened.
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