What’s this mischief here?The road past my house is a pilgrimage to Salem allmorning. The town’s mumbling witchcraft.
Gah! I’d almost forgot how strong you are, John Proctor!Oh, she’s only gone silly somehow
Then you saw him! TITUBA weeps. Now Tituba, I know that when we bind ourselves to Hell it is very hard to break with it.Who?.
: Mister Reverend, I dobelieve somebody else be witchin’ these children.: I don’t know, sir, but the Devil got him numerous witches.
I never sold myself! I’m a good girl! I’m a proper girl!She made me do it! She made Betty do it!: She makes me drink blood!
No more! I should have roared you down when firstyou told me your suspicion. But I wilted, and, like a Christian,I confessed. Confessed! Some dream I had must have mistakenyou for God that day. But you’re not, you’re not, and let youremember it! Let you look sometimes for the goodness in me,and judge me not.
What keeps you so late? It’s almost dark.I do not judge you. The magistrate sits in your heartthat judges you. I never thought you but a good man, John—