I want to hammer myself against all this that pens women in. Listening at one of the doors leading to the Master Debtors' side, he heard a loud voice chanting a Bacchanalian melody, and the boisterous laughter that accompanied the song, convinced him that no suspicion was entertained in this quarter. Steeples toppled, and towers reeled beneath its fury. The voices went into his ears but left no impression of their import. ‘Might have forgiven him,’ he muttered under his breath, ‘if he hadn’t taken the babe. If she’s over, he probably knows all about it. Women! He is always chanting the praise of some discovery; sometimes it will be a native, often a white woman out of the stews. You may have something to conceal, you may not. . You can’t do that sort of thing unless you do it over religion, and there’s no religion in me—of that sort—worth a rap.
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