Dies Drear's been dead a hundred years. He had no family. You had one. And you threw it away while you crawled around here all those days and nights.
Mayhew, can't you see, son? This is our legacy, our heritage.
This isn't our heritage, it's the ART COLLECTION of a rich 19th-century ECCENTRIC! THE ONLY THING THAT'S UNDER HERE THAT'S REALLY OUR HERITAGE ARE THOSE SLAVE REGISTERS! The rest is just earthly goods... and you traded it all for Mother and me.