If we were to wait till a prig was rightfully nabbed, we might tarry till doomsday. I've a question to ask him. 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. "Who knows but this key may open a golden lock one of these days?" And, picking it up, he thrust it into his pocket. ” She stirred gently in her chair.
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