For a moment he believed this merely a new phase of the dream. 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. “Before this there was a sort of restraint—a make-believe. “Let your friends act for you. To even presume a lustful thought about her was to ask for one’s own death. I told him the truth. They were filthy after the burial. ” “I told them a lie.
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