I would not pass over his sin, and I dare not pass over any other.

I know I shall pursue Roland until his death or mine; my son's fate cries out for it.

But I'm not a hard man toward innocent sufferers, like you and his poor mother.

Try to think of me as your friend; nay, even Roland's friend, for what would a few years' penal servitude be compared with my boy's death?
Shake hands with me before I go." The small, delicate hand she offered him was icy cold, though her face was still calm and her eyes clear and dry.

He was himself more moved and agitated than she appeared to be.