Believe me, I completely agree that
it is a little sick-o to empathize
with the trials of a prosecutor,
especially for the thrilling sensa-
tion he suffers, in the depths of
his diligence, of reaching an end.
Has the ceremony been extended, to
satisfy the most vigorous demands
to reflect the spirit of the laws,
or appease a rising lawless lust?
How the worry gathers as the laces
overlap, their climax now so immin-
ent, as almost to entrap. And yet,
what could be more expedient for
continuing his work, than the im-
pudent call, off-stage, for the
publication of his discoveries,
as of a Clown Executioner of sus-
pects who cannot be convicted?
What servant of the law would un-
dertake investigations framed by
due process, only to turn over
raw data to the tender mercies
of political schism and journal-
istic hustlers? Not even Eurip-
ides loosed the Bacchae on such
a corrupt demand for justice. It
would fail the laws of tragedy.
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