But the mere recognition of his son’s signature was enough to stoke the fires of his long-held rage. At second hand it would be unendurable. It seemed that within an instant the Pestilence struck, and she begged me on her deathbed to shelter you and her grandson for the rest of your lives, as she could see that even though I was a ‘demon fiend’ and ‘minor devil’ that I loved you. “It isn’t quite that we’re toys. God forgive you!" "May He, indeed, forgive me!" returned Trenchard, crossing himself devoutly; "but my guilt is not the less heavy, because your child escaped. “Feel better.
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