Lucy didn’t seem like a teenage girl at all to Sheila and she knew it. 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. It was easy to imagine great power in such a man. Section 2. A deep dread calm, like that which precedes a thunderstorm, now prevailed amongst the assemblage.
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