225 “Sebastianus. 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. She told me the tale the other night, and I've only elaborated it. “It’s very good,” she said. “Non. But the recollection of the warm pliant body in his arms …! "I am a thief!" he whispered. "My portrait!" echoed Jack.
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