By Arthur Miller
Mary Warren: I
never knew it before. I never knew anything before. When she come into the
court I say to myself, I must not accuse this woman, for she sleeps in ditches,
and so very old and poor. But then- then she sit there, denying and denying,
and I feel a misty coldness climbin' up my back, and the skin on my skull begin
to creep, and I feel a clamp around my neck and I cannot breathe air; and then (entranced) I hear a voice, a screamin'
voice, and it were my voice- and all at once I remembered everything she done
to me! (Like one awakened to a marvelous
secret insight) So many times, Mr. Proctor, she come to this very door,
beggin' bread and a cup of cider-and mark this: whenever I turned her away
empty, she mumbled. But what does she mumble? You must remember, Goody Proctor.
Last month-a Monday, I think--she walked away, and I thought my guts would
burst for two days after. Do you remember it? And so I told that to Judge
Hathorne, and he asks her so. "Sarah Good," says he, "what curse
do you mumble that this girl must fall sick after turning you away?" And
then she replies (mimicking an old crone) "Why, your excellence, no curse
at all. I only say my commandments; I hope I may say my commandments,"
says she! Then Judge Hathorne say, "Recite for us your commandments!"
(Leaning avidly toward them) And of all the ten she could not say a single one.
She never knew no commandments, and they had her in a flat lie!
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