“In your opinion, did Mr. Wilson and Miss Pigot have sexual intercourse?” Mr. Trevelyan asks.
I wince at Mr. Trevelyan’s language, but Mr. Fish is unaffected.
“I’m unwilling to say they had sexual intercourse,” he says as if the subject is an ordinary conversational topic.
“Why?” Mr. Trevelyan asks. “Had you any doubt they retired to that room to have sexual intercourse?”
“That’s a hard question,” Mr. Fish considers his answer. “I thought it was wrong for them to leave the room together.”
“I’ll ask again. Do you have any doubt they went into that room to have sexual intercourse?” Mr. Trevelyan asks.
Mr. Fish sighs and shakes his head. “I have little doubt.”
“Have you any doubt?” Mr. Trevelyan presses the point.
“I have no doubt,” Mr. Fish admits.
“Then why didn’t you say anything?” Mr. Trevelyan demands to know.
“Mr. Wilson and I are communicants in the church. I didn’t say anything, because I didn’t want to create a public scandal.”
I wish you’d kept to your secrets.
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