So, you see—’ ‘Do not say any more,’ Melusine uttered, flinging away and moving to the fireplace. “I knew of course that you were at the Montressor’s, but I had no idea that it was a music hall party afterwards. 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. But, on the bursting of that bubble, his hopes vanished with it.
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