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. That he was hot and breathless was of no matter; in that moment he would have faced a dozen Samsons. One always dreamed of this and never believed it. Chapter XXIII MONTAGUE HILL SEES LIGHT AT LAST At exactly ten minutes past ten Annabel rang the bell of her sister’s flat. “How ridiculous! Fancy you with all that money! For heaven’s sake, though, do not go about playing the Don Quixote like this. ‘Jacques, where are you hurt?’ But as she asked the question, she saw the wound. ‘I’m determined to find out all about you, mademoiselle. Then a light seemed to break in upon him. For I still love her mother. I don’t care.
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