However hard it is for me to write this down for the public to
read, I cannot relieve myself of this duty; it has to be this
way. I do not feel sorry for myself, but for my poor, law-abiding
parents and sisters, my parents whom I still feel sorry for in
their graves, because their son, for whom they had such great,
perhaps not entirely unfounded hopes, had been forced by the
infinite cruelty of the facts and conditions to make such
confessions.
I would not think of listing the misdeeds, I had been accused of,
here. To my executioner, flayer, and knacker, is something I will
leave up to this abysmal lack of honour, which has crucified me
ten years ago and has not stopped for a single moment during all
of this time inventing ever new ways to torture me. Let it
continue digging through these faeces, to delight all of those
base creatures who sustain their lives on these matters. And just
the same, I am not willing to make a sensation out of this renewed
imprisonment of mine. I simply have to report of it, to tell the
truth, and then, to hurry on, bidding my farewell to this apparent
abyss, which is actually no abyss at all.
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