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. Afterward he stole out of the room with the bloodstained sheet to boast her virginity to his brothers and father, which only truly mattered because she was beautiful, her mother had said. His brows drew a little nearer together. “Yes. “Um, okay. I think a wife a needless incumbrance, and mean to die a bachelor. Not I. But a time will come (and that before long,) when our sex will assert its superiority; and, when we have got the upper hand, let 'em try to subdue us if they can. ’ ‘I am a very English man,’ Gerald said. “It’s not. I suppose because it IS the chief thing in life.
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