He finally found someone like him. Someone who shared his abilities, someone who understood what he had to go through every day. And she turned out to be bad. Evil. A murderess and a thief. That hurt more than not knowing if he would ever find someone else out there like him.

But let none of you suffer as a murderer, or as a thief, or as an evildoer, or as a busybody in other men's matters.

Have you ever watched kids on a playground? There will be one kid taller than all the rest. He’s out there playing, and he’s the tallest one. But he doesn’t know he’s tall. Maybe on some level it registers with him that the other kids in his class are shorter, that he has to look down to meet their eyes when he’s close to them, but he never really thinks much about it. “Later, if the difference stays and he remains taller than others, somebody will say something about his height. Maybe they’ll tease him and call him a freak. Then he’ll fully realize he’s taller than normal. He still won’t think much about it, though, until others point it out to him all the time.

Our interest's on the dangerous edge of things. The honest thief, the tender murderer, the superstitious atheist.

Eugene Aram, though a thief, a liar, and a murderer, / Yet, being intellectual, was amongst the noblest of mankind.

You can put a murderer in a suit, and he's still a murderer.