She crouched beneath a stump, her extremities twitching as the sun set orange and blue beyond the lace of iron-black trees. "I do," replied Thames, in the same tone; "we haven't a moment to lose. 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. These sham ideals and advanced notions.
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