Alas, all these accusations and more contain a germ of truth. That one occasion he was not averse even to the goo of the liquefied. That one day he pushed a man in front of a train just to gather together the pieces and turn them into fun cars. That he raced bodies in secret backyard games that amounted to part spectacle and part mechanized chaos. They say he raided tombs, jointed skeletons together, motorized them. At present, unfortunately, more recall his transgressions than his attempts to right them. He was, indeed, one of the most honorable people I have ever known. Yet no matter how many times Gaspar Villon fell, I believe time will vindicate him. That they affix themselves to his brow, or shine from the skin of his neglected soup, or find some other way to creep about his person and stamp themselves into the mold of his legacy. Some say a gentleman’s crimes, no matter how well-intended, are permanent.
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