" "Heaven help her!" sighed Jack. ’ ‘That’s better. ” “I say,” she reflected, “you ARE rather the master, you know. 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. "I was only commenting. No, no! Not now!" Ruth turned abruptly and walked toward the bungalow, mounted the veranda steps, and vanished within. We mustn’t make it so. She spoke slowly.
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