without passion there was inside him a deep, slow-burning cruelty, an evil wish to bring a terrible revenge on his enemy. The priest's guilty sadness was a weapon in his merciless hands. Every day he played, like a cat with a mouse, with the fear and the shame lying hidden in the young man's soul.
at time even with hate at the figure of the old doctor; then he would punish himself for these unkind toughts, blaming them on the guilt and shame eating away at his heart.
And all this black trouble in his soul had made him more famous and popular as a priest than ever. To the people in this church, he seemed very close to God, a man full of gentleness and understanding of the pain and suffering of others.
More than once, Mr. Dimmesdale prepared himself to speak to his people about the black secret of his soul. More than once he stood in front of them in church, tookna deep breath, and told them...what? He told them he was the worst of sinners, hateful, dishonest, unclean, an evil thing in the sight of God. But did they understand? No! they listened, and then told each other how lucky they were to have a man like this for their priest. Only a strong and godly man, they siad, could speak so openly about his weaknesses.
his own face would be replace by the accusing faces of the others. and pointing finger first at the scarlet letter on her bosom, and then at the priest's own chest.
One sleepless summer night, seven years from the time when Hester stood in public shame on the scaffold, the priest sat up suddenly in his chair. An idea had come to him.