Gabriel stared down at his tea uncomfortably, not sure how to respond to the question. He had been working hard on trying not to think for himself as much, and father Kemble had not exactly invited him to do otherwise, at least not purposely. So the question found him unprepared.

"There's more poverty and crime and other vice than I had expected in a small town like this," he stated quietly after some thought. "As for the parish, I've seen some real good people with pure hearts that make me ashamed of my own..." Crane came to mind. A soul purer and meeker than any that had ever laid itself bare before him. He tried to push the thought away, as he knew he should. It was dangerous. But he might as well ask his heart to stop beating. How could he not love what was lovable?

He suddenly remembered where he was and quickly lifted his cup just to look like he was there. He spilled some of its contents in the process. "Oh..." he rubbed the wet spot on his cassock with his sleeve. "Sorry, I'm still a little... clumsy at times." He let out a short uncomfortable laugh that was supposed to ease the tension he felt, but only made him feel more awkward.

"As I was saying..." he quickly continued, "good souls, but the parish in general seems lukewarm." Like the tea, mercifully. "Many come to fulfil their Sunday obligation, but their religion seems to end after the blessing. And though they ask for baptisms and marriages and holy unction, Kemble... father Kemble says very few come for the sacrament of penance regularly." There had been more coming for the sacrament when he had still been allowed to hear confessions. And once he had personally received the sacrament under Kemble, he understood why there had been a drop.

Another transgression of his conceited mind, Gabriel reprimanded himself.