"Can you?"

If he struggled so much; if he strained to keep control and failed to do so. Could he regain that control?

Why should he, but Malachi did not give voice to that inquiry.

He closed his eyes, and let his hands rest comfortably over his lap.

"Perhaps if you cannot, you should try something else, since you are so incapable of handling yourself this way."

Was he feeling bitter about effectively being called depraved? Was he still frustrated with the way this man and the guests he'd offered shelter had treated him that morning? Was he considering how much easier it'd be to avoid the bishop's wrath if there was not another priest around to complain about him?

Perhaps.