Gosse must now fight with his back to the altar, and a dais at his heels. ‘Unless he is himself a man of substance. 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. Why in heaven’s name didn’t I think of that before?’ ‘What are you talking of?’ ‘Never mind that now.
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