Dovey, you do not understand. Tommy has a complex internal defence mechanism to protect him from the overwhelming waves of guilt and shame that would otherwise consume him uterly and consign him to the void. He damns the photograph even as the dread rhythm of his right hand, like the murderers gripping the fatal knife, threatens to unleash its dire payload; a slap across the very face of God, and drown the guttering light of his goodness in one last blasphemous deluge.