She felt that she was not alone. 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. "It is addressed to my mother," he added, as his eye glanced rapidly over it, "and by my father. ‘I’m following a scent.
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