"Always remember the fact. Still, one never could tell. \"I don't eat lunch. His breath grew shallower as he approached the room, conscious of the loudness of his hallway-reverberated footfalls. "No, I don't. 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. He died in the war.
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