This bloody work took nearly an hour and a half from the time we stopped the men." Anyone who reads that confession will think that the man who wrote it was destitute of emotions, destitute of feeling.

That is partly true.

As regarded others he was plainly without feeling--utterly cold and pitiless; but as regarded himself the case was different.

While he cared nothing for the future of the murdered men, he cared a great deal for his own.

It makes one's flesh creep to read the introduction to his confession.