January 31^st, 1776

This day, Bono’s revelation. There is nought but this to report; nought to consider. I approached him; I inquired. He wished to wait. I importuned. Some hours passed. We ate. He came to my side.

He inquired as to whether I remembered Beth, a fille de chambre at the College in my infancy, though in that time, called Miss 22-05. I replied that I did not remember her name, but recalled her number, and that she was a pleasant woman of perhaps two-score years.

“She spake the tongue of Oyo,” said Bono. “Your mother, she cried when she was first come to the house, and Miss 22-05, she comfort her.” He relucted to continue; and yet, I waited, and so he continued.

He related —

There is no virtue in concealment. When the earth is rendered chaos, regulations of speech and propriety are rendered impotent, just as city may become desolate, and street, battleground, and flesh may become fire.

O Lord, we are vile; have mercy upon us — have mercy upon us —

Or rather, have no mercy upon us — none at all — but bring the full arsenal of Thy savagery to bear upon us and extinguish us utterly — for there is no one worthy in Thy sight.