. " "I know not how it is," sighed Darrell, "but I feel an unaccountable misgiving at quitting this place. 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. . You truly are your mother’s, Lucia. Faintly bothered by what it might mean, Gerald rose from his seat and crossed to the tray to pour himself a glass of wine. But before he could say anything, the vehicle rolled to a halt. —Though if my name should become as famous as theirs, it wouldn't much matter. I'll wait here. He said. In fact, one of them was downright sceptical.
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