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She could smell his cologne underneath his collar, or perhaps his aftershave. 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 was a little embarrassed. I kept them on myself till the sight of your empty chair and the chill loneliness of it all nearly sent me mad. Gosse had moved forward, his pistol arm out straight, his aim true, the gun cocked.
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