[There are options to recover here. He could put on a mask, beg forgiveness, profess understanding and pledge to never again do something like this.

There are options to make it worse. He could tell Royce that most of the people he'd murdered had trusted him, as well. Renart had trusted him. Sibella had trusted him and he'd kept his engagement to Phoebe from her. He is a deceitful man and he made no effort to hide that from Royce.

Monty draws himself up and straightens his clothes. It feels just a little like the night before the gallows again. The jury deciding whether he might live or die. There are no more pages left to write in this chapter.]

I have not suffered worse. I have simply suffered the same. And scale may not matter to you, but when there are only gradations of change and horror, one grows inured to it. It did not occur to me that you would consider something like this unforgivable. I will not beg for a thing you are unwilling to give, sir. If you have simply come to tell me that we are at an end, then so be it. Your mission is fulfilled. I will not trouble you, Mr. Solomons, or Ms. Emily in the future.