“She wasn’t sane, my wife. “Go from me, husband!” With a flourish he brought her arms behind her and her body was slammed to the floor. 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. " "No—no," laughed Jack. Melusine did not pause, but reached down to grasp the hilt of his sword and lift it. He left that arid rule clear of the least mist of refinement or delicacy.
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