It seemed to me some craving after beauty was there, as if the poor germ of a soul groped out of the darkness towards what is fair and sweet.

I dared not hound it back into the darkness, close down any dim aspiration after God it might have.

So I left its pitiful joss-house inviolate, the moan of the wind and sighing of the great reed-beds making music for such strange rites of worship as have been, or may be, practised within.

Any god is better than none--that's my creed, at least.

And to defile any man's god--however trumpery--unless you're amazingly sure you've a better one to offer him in place of it is to sin against the Holy Ghost." Faircloth rose to his feet.
"Time's up"-- he said.