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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. She was acquiring truths, but in a series of shocks rather than by the process of analysis. Never had he corrected her with hand or whip, the ring in his voice had always been sufficient to cower her.
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