The man was mad to marry me. 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. Wood. It was not human and yet very human, a high pitched wail of hunger that rattled her skull. It was still profoundly dark; but the wind, which had begun to blow with some violence, chased the clouds rapidly across the heavens, and dispersed the vapours hanging nearer the earth. I wonder how it is,” she added, “that boys always make love so impertinently.
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