Viola is writing a suicide letter:
'To Nicodemus,
Amalija, I knew when you uttered that name in the tent, that me committing it to memory would serve a great purpose. That being the first word that you see should reveal what I'm about to say. Though, I will start with the good.
I didn't think I would like it here. The east gets dreadfully cold in the winter and scorching in the summer. But you was right. I got over it. The Oskeas let us in with no trouble at all. They spoke the language of gold, and we had a lot to say. Working in the rice field's everyday made you irritable. You hadn't worked a day in your life. Hard to believe you actually killed someone. That could've been a lie. You are full of those. And what did I tell you, you got over it. It was easy for me. I know hard labor al
