‘No need to shake in your boots,’ Gerald said soothingly. Here I am. It was really very nice of you, but to-morrow you will laugh at it as I do now. 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 was the same smell that she had in his memory, but now it was definite, palpable, like a perfume.
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