Bear me witness: I know that smell. Evils. Evils long ago. A chorus of singers broods upon this house, they never leave, their tune is bad, they drink cocktails of human blood and party through the rooms. You will not get them out. They are kin to the Furies and sing of original evil, marriage beds that stink of life gone wrong. Do I miss the mark? Am I a prophet of lies? Just babbling? Or do you admit I’m a pretty good shot. Bear me witness: I see this place I see its ancient sins.
