I’m not sure if Janine cared. 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. Lucy entered the room. Each became frightfully aware of the other as a plastic energetic body, of the strong muscles of neck against cheek, of hands gripping shoulder-blade and waist. "I have killed you," cried Jack, endeavouring to staunch the effusion of blood from her breast.
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