“Then you are laying the murder of the city on my shoulders?”
“The murder of the city reposes on the shoulders of those alone who trampled Grot, the guard of the heart-machine, to death.”
“Did that also take place by your will, father?”
“Yes!”
“Then you forced them to commit the crime—?”
“For your sake, Freder; that you could redeem them....”
“And what about those, father, who must die with your dying city, before I can redeem them!”
“Concern yourself about the living, Freder—not about the dead.”
“And if the living come to kill you—?”
“That will not happen, Freder. That will not happen. The way to me, among the raving god-machines, as you called them, could only be found by one. And he found it. That was my son.”