Whether through the associations with his name
saint, or merely by his personality, Mark considered that he looked a
typical inquisitor. When he spoke, his lips seemed to curl in a sneer.
The expression was probably quite accidental, perhaps caused by some
difficulty in breathing, but the effect was sinister, and his smooth
voice did nothing to counteract the unpleasant grimace. Mark wondered if
he was really successful with the men at Shorncliffe.
"Reverend Father, Reverend Brother, and Brethren," said Brother Dominic,
"you can imagine that it is no easy matter for me to destroy with a few
words a house that in a small way I had a share in building up."
"The lion's share," interposed the Father Superior.
"You are too generous, Reverend Father," said Brother Dominic. "We could
have done very little at Sandgate if you had not worked so hard for us
throughout the length and breadth of England. And that is what
personally I do feel, Brethren," he continued in more emphatic tones. "I
do feel that the Reverend Father knows better than we what is the right
policy for us to adopt. I will not pretend that I shall be anything but
loath to leave Sandgate, but the future of the whole order depends on
the ability of brethren like myself," Brother Dominic paused for the
briefest instant to flash a quick glance at Brother Anselm, "to
recognize that our usefulness to the soldiers among whom we are proud
and happy to spend our lives is bounded by our usefulness to the Order
of St.
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