She drew a breath, and sighed it out. ‘Why, that’s one of the names with which she tried to fob me off. 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. You were afraid of me, afraid that I should have been shocked, afraid of the scandal. ‘You are mad,’ Gosse uttered, and only just had time to get himself up from the floor.
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