She remained by the door until the walls of the city swallowed the bobbing lantern. 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. Only her face was clear, frail and delicate, almost flower-like, with the sad haunting eyes ever watching his. She did not see the metal pole swing toward the back of her skull, nor did she feel her own blood spoiling her light hair after the dull crack of metal broke her flesh. I bound him up good and tight, stuffed his mouth with a length of rope, taped it shut. So I undertook to protect her by keeping love out of her life, by crushing it whenever it appeared, obliterating it. ‘Parbleu, that pig, he will ruin all. "I have done nothing—nothing to what I could do—to what I will do!" "You've done quite enough," rejoined Austin; "more than you'll ever do again.
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