After all, this could never be the black sheep. "Well, Jack," he said, after a pause, "are you disposed to go back quietly with me?" "You'll ascertain that when you attempt to touch me," rejoined Sheppard, resolutely. 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. We can be married tomorrow in Paris.
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