Muggles bleed dirt, Marvolo Gaunt preaches to his children. After all, he has hexed enough outsiders in his day, he reckons, to know the immaculate from the tainted from the profane. Mud coagulates within every Muggle heart, stopping each long before a pureblood wizard's would even tire. No fruit comes of Muggle dirt, maintains Marvolo, quite impressed at his capacity for metaphor. Filth breeds filth.
Merope Gaunt smiles ruefully to herself whenever this last piece of pureblood wisdom interrupts her less than pure thoughts.
Her father has never been able to explain her birth into such a respectable family.
