And he bowed his head yet lower before the altar in weariness and confusion. Oh, that his father would die!—and the road before John be open, as it must be open for others. Yet in the very grave he would hate him; his father would but have changed conditions, he would be John’s father still. The grave was not enough for punishment, for justice, for revenge. Hell, everlasting, unceasing, perpetual, unquenched forever, should be his father’s portion; with John there to watch, to linger, to smile, to laugh aloud, hearing, at last, his father’s cries of torment.
fucking bars
