“That’s it,” she said. Although Martha did not know it, she had her pistol and her daggers, and her knife. 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. "Come! I see the storm has blown over," cried Winifred, brightening up. " "Won't my life do as well as his?" supplicated the other.
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