" "Leave you!" echoed the ruffian, with a contemptuous laugh; "—not just yet. 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. Fine but strong lines marked the profile: that would speak for courage and resolution. ’ She raised the pistol. My first visit will be to you. "I understand," she said. The Wastrel did not relish this. "Shoot him! shoot him! Put him out of hish mishery," cried the Jew. “Don’t worry, Julian.
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