On this side was a razor with which a son had murdered his father; the blade notched, the haft crusted with blood: on that, a bar of iron, bent, and partly broken, with which a husband had beaten out his wife's brains. His vision was becoming accustomed to the faint light now and her features were clearer. “You see, Vee,” said Mrs. But about his unknown rival he was acutely curious. Here was a hole as wide as a church-door. Her eyes where glassy and shining.
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