You talk of degradation and character.

You told me once that you had purchased the absence of the poor idiot and his mother, when (as I have discovered since, and then suspected) you had gone to tempt them, and had found them flown.

To you I traced the insinuation that I alone reaped any harvest from my brother's death; and all the foul attacks and whispered calumnies that followed in its train.

In every action of my life, from that first hope which you converted into grief and desolation, you have stood, like an adverse fate, between me and peace.

In all, you have ever been the same cold-blooded, hollow, false, unworthy villain.