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. Why do you not go away?’ ‘Yes, do go away,’ begged Gerald. It was as if her aesthetic sense had become inflamed. "Her blood be upon her own head, then," replied Rowland, sternly. Sheppard, distractedly.
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