“Besides, it will be more seemly for you with the monks than here with me, with a drunken old man and young harlots … though you're like an angel, nothing touches you. And I dare say nothing will touch you there. That's why I let you go, because I hope for that. You've got all your wits about you. You will burn and you will burn out; you will be healed and come back again.
And I will wait for you. I feel that you're the only creature in the world who has not condemned me. My dear boy, I feel it, you know. I can't help feeling it.»
And he even began blubbering. He was sentimental.”