Occasionally he would lean back and stare at the window which gave upon the sea. “It is very, very difficult,” she continued, looking steadfastly at the ground. 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. We always go out to dinner on holidays.
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