The pistol fell to the floor. I met her when we were both very young, as young as you are. 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. ” “And for me,” Anna echoed. She looked around the apartment for other people. They fell into step again. The glass in the windows was broken—the roof unthatched—the walls dilapidated. Perhaps the day of her recompense was at hand. All the linen was new and stamped with the mark of Whiteaway, Laidlaw & Co. Coldly she spoke, in a distinctly accented voice. The idea of anything criminal never entered her thoughts.
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