But he has his revenge. Even the winds are his messengers, and they serve him in these hours of darkness. There is not a drop of Tom's corrupted blood but propagates infection and contagion somewhere. It shall pollute, this very night, the choice stream (in which chemists on analysis would find the genuine nobility) of a Norman house, and his Grace shall not be able to say nay to the infamous alliance. There is not an atom of Tom's slime, not a cubic inch of any pestilential gas in which he lives, not one obscenity or degradation about him, not an ignorance, not a wickedness, not a brutality of his committing, but shall work its retribution through every order of society up to the proudest of the proud and to the highest of the high. Verily, what with tainting, plundering, and spoiling, Tom has his revenge.

But he has his revenge. Even the winds are his messengers, sending his infection and contagion everywhere. There is not an atom of Tom's slime, not one obscenity or degradation about him, not an ignorance, not a wickedness, but shall work its retribution through every order of society up to the proudest of the proud and the highest of the high. And thus Tom has his revenge.
