His cigar burnt out between his fingers, and he threw it impatiently away. Anyhow, it were me as got you down to the wetnurse. 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. " "I'm convinced of it," replied Shotbolt; "and it was on that very account I came here. Others who have done, have found you false.
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