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. "Do you compare your love—a love which all may purchase—with hers? No one has ever loved me. Planting his knee against her side, he pulled her towards him with one hand, while with the other he sought his knife. . Perhaps my wife has already prepared you for what I wish to say. Even to my own brother—if I had one—I could not tell everything, and you, although you are so kind, you are almost a stranger, aren’t you?” “No, no!” he protested. I’ve had the rarest luck and fallen on my feet. “My father’s sisters used once to live in the old manor house.
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