Who will deny that all men have their secrets, and that deep down in every one of us the mind is scarred somewhere with the memories of unforgotten but never-mentioned acts?
I know I have my secrets, and they must be heavier, too, than fall to the lot of most men, for I—have taken life.
Ten years ago I secretly killed two men. One I shot with a rifle and to the other I dealt out death in a different way. And I was never found out.
But I was no murderer, and I regret nothing, for their deaths were forced upon me, and they were bad men, and they both deserved to die. One himself had just violently taken life, and the other would have tortured me in a form of living death. He was a blackmailer.
But they are both long since forgotten now, these men who died, and the manner of their passing even has never become known.
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