” He stated. He hung over her—he and his loan to her and his connection with her and that terrible evening—a vague, disconcerting possibility of annoyance and exposure. 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. ’ He paused, but Melusine caught the inference. It was the same smell that she had in his memory, but now it was definite, palpable, like a perfume. The sky periodically pummeled her with hail pellets as she would pass through the deserted intersections. I don't know whose brainless head it may be, but it'll do for my collection.
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