And how are you doing, staring into the empty air and talking to nobody?
This is only a figment of your imagination. Madness is good at creating hallucinations.
How are you doing, madam?
You don’t see anything? And you don’t hear anything?
. . . don’t flatter yourself into believing that it’s my madness, not your crime, that’s the problem. You’d just be concealing the rot that’s eating you from the inside. Confess your sins to heaven. Repent and avoid damnation. Don’t spread manure over the weeds in your heart; it’ll only make them more filthy. . . . virtuous people have to say, “Beg your pardon” to vile ones and beg for the chance to do any good.
God wanted to punish me with this murder, and this man with me, so I’m both Heaven’s executioner and its minister of justice. This is bad, but it’ll get worse soon.
Ah, I’d forgotten all about that! It’s been decided.
Yes, it’s a done deal, the documents are ready, and my two schoolmates, whom I trust about as much as rattlesnakes, are in charge. They’re the ones who’ll lead me on my march to mischief.