Place in the City
““Now, father, wouldn’t you say that there is a judgment coming on this city of ours, a great judgment to pay for its wickedness?”
“Wickedness,” murmured the priest. “Then is it more wicked than another city?—I don’t know. What man is doing, he has always done, and you wonder why—why?”
“It will be a judgment, sure,” said O’Lacy. “When women paint themselves, and then parade the streets openly to sell what they have, when they live in such a house as that with a man of my race selling their bodies and souls—I think, and I say to myself, Marcus O’Lacy, it is time to make your peace for a great judgment that is coming.”
The priest smiled, very slowly, but the officer, staring straight in front of him, saw nothing of the smile. He hardly heard him say, softly: “The air is clean and the snow is cold. Tomorrow, you will see your children, O’Lacy, and then you will not be so hard on them. If they believed—”
“In the dollar and the gut!”
“No—not all.
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