“I don’t know how to prove myself to you, John. 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. By the way, what did he say when he was out of his head?" "The word 'Fool. It was a gray day in the spring of 1910. “But you’re wrong. His manner, however, was as stern and haughty as ever, and his glances retained their accustomed fire. He knew me, Nigel.
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