" "Well, we shall see," replied Jack. You haven’t had it on your mind all this time?” “I have rather. He would never be able to figure out that: all these miles from Cuba, and you could get a perfecto for thirteen cents. 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. For I still love her mother. Something, then, to appease the wrath of God; something to blunt this persistent agony.
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