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. "Right," said the Master, "I didn't think of her. It's infernally provoking. She did not want to seem to shrink from conversation, but all sorts of odd questions were running through her mind. "Who isn't it like?" he asked, endeavouring to gain possession of the drawing, which, af the sound of his footstep, she crushed between her fingers.
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