She knew it. ‘Can’t have been a common housebreaker, you see,’ Hilary explained to Lucilla, quite unnecessarily. "One of us has got to die," he panted. "Oh! no—no—no," cried Winifred, "I cannot believe it. 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.
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