Wood's reception of the widow, who, at that moment, was ushered into the room by Winifred, was not particularly kind and encouraging. I did not know how he would act if I obstructed him. 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 stepped from the Embassy into the motor—and oh! I thought that he was dead.
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