Then she sat watching the play, sometimes offering a helpful suggestion, sometimes letting her attention wander to the smoothly shining arms she had folded across her knees just below the edge of the table. He had done it. ‘For instance, why have you reverted to your nun’s habit for this particular adventure?’ ‘That is easy. 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. Wood, in deploring his wild career, adverted to the melancholy condition to which it had reduced his mother. "He's here. —D'ye hear?" Still the widow remained silent. It seemed to them they could never have been really alive before, but only dimly anticipating existence. Her aunt leaped unhappily to the thought of penitence.
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