Oh for the lengths I have had to go and the further pains of my expression, I want you to expect that they play to you virtues, and that you hold over them a considerable advantage, but like the muck-peddler I have devised the ruin of your purity, and like the rough-shodder I have trampled your good name, I am a perfect louse I bleed the goodness from your body, to think I thought I could change and oh to believe such piffle, I long never to rest in the tomb of my family, or be hoist to the id may I be scattered here with you.
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