The phrase I would give anything to make this better is a fascinating one - I've certainly always thought so. What a grand demonstration, a suitably tortured self-flagellation, and in its way it absolves you from amends. No gestures grand enough, no sacrifice that will grant more than a hollow sort of satisfaction. How charming! How pointless, in the end. Would it make my brother feel better if I let him poison my wife, too? I doubt it. Shall we spill more blood, where we've already torn apart nations in an unfortunately literal sense?

(Zemoch, I aside, was no great loss.)

What great respect we have for the merchant in front of the church, ensuring that God and all his creatures know his piety, his generosity. How well we think of the man whose soul is so clean he'll cry to the heavens what's wrong with yours. And how suited to their ranks is the penitent most concerned with a witness to his guilt, the absolution of their pity.

All I have to offer is this: understanding, respect, and utmost patience. Forgiveness is neither a right nor a prize, and my reform doesn't carry with it a bounty. I give my time and the ability to keep my occasional idiocy to myself.