Everything he left me, except a few pictures, I spent long ago, and even that was made by his slaves and not by him.

My wealth comes day by day fresh from the labor of the wretches who live in the dens I have just shown you, or of a few aristocrats of labor who are within ten shillings a week of being worse off.

However, there is some excuse for my father.

Once, at an election riot, I got into a free fight.

I am a peaceful man, but as I had either to fight or be knocked down and trampled upon, I exchanged blows with men who were perhaps as peacefully disposed as I.My father, launched into a free competition (free in the sense that the fight is free: that is, lawless)--my father had to choose between being a slave himself and enslaving others.
He chose the latter, and as he was applauded and made much of for succeeding, who dare blame him?
Not I.Besides, he did something to destroy the anarchy that enabled him to plunder society with impunity.
He furnished me, its enemy, with the powerful weapon of a large fortune.
Thus our system of organizing industry sometimes hatches the eggs from which its destroyers break.