“That’s suicidal bullshit, Lucy. I wish”— she found she had embarked on a bad sentence—“I wish we needn’t have quarrelled. “I cut off his right hand pinky with his own rusty bolt cutter. Now I shall never hear it but what this evening will come pouring back over me. "You begin to have doubts, eh? A handful of money between you, and nothing else. Only it was with a further and most unbelieving shrug of the shoulders that he resumed his seat. Don't be afraid, man,—off with it. The ink, contained in a grimy bottle unearthed in the outhouse, was old, and made blotches as soon as it touched the paper. But if you wish to do old Wood a friendly turn, you may bring his wife. She had in her suitcase a small scrapbook, only a few pages, what little information she had gathered on him through the years. Man's fate is in his own hands.
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