Charles Maturin

At these words, which I suppose I uttered in a tone unlike that of the usual chaunt of monastic conversation, another interposed, and asked what I was uttering in so loud a key? “I am only saying,” I replied, “that I must be a monk.” “Thank God it is no worse,” replied the querist, “your contumacy must long ago have wearied the Superior and the brethren—thank God it’s no worse.”

He recapitulated the Sybil’s story word by word, with the air of a man who is cross-examining an evidence, and trying to make him contradict himself.