— Whose report?
— The testimony of children.
— Who have they spoken to?
— You'd have them only speak to God.
— God be their witness.
— There is God, and there are the Peaky Blinders. This is Sparkhill, we're in Small Heath. We are much, much closer at hand than God.
— And we have heard terrible things.
— We have, in this place, children of the worst sort. They lie as easily as breathe.
— You had a child half black. You made her wash with a different soap.
— Mr Shelby, your own sins are legend.
— Our sins... Our sins against the beating of children with bricks and hoses. Our sins. Our sins... against the black child who hanged herself for fear of your temper.
— I do not see how...
— You do not see! Now put them on. Put them on your face, or it'll be your eyes that are broken. Please don't imagine that I won't use this minute to do it, or that I am afraid of your prayers or your crosses.
— You see the world broken. Like those beaten children will.
Explanation:
Polly and Thomas found out about the nuns' abuse of children at the shelter they sponsored and came to pick up the children.
They’re dreaming of men who beat them, a backhand, unsubtle kick to the groin. Men who clench their teeth before striking, they hiss, “Look what you’re making me do.” The women cringe even in sleep, under the stares of men’s eyeballs road mapped with veins, popped with rage, the whites the color of mayonnaise left out for a week. One wonders how they could even see to deliver their blows. But women’s fear is a magnet. I hope you don’t know this. It draws the fist, the hands of men, hard as God’s.