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. “I mean REALLY independent. I wasn’t. Then before she could say a word to arrest him he was at her side. She could not move. But I'll tell you about him some other time.
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