"Nor any one else, I suspect," answered Ireton, winking significantly. She tended the twins while the Clotilde was in Sebastian’s private chambers, a place she gave a wide berth. The lunches were individual affairs: sandwiches, bottled olives and jam commandeered from the Victoria. 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. ” She said.
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