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. Men ought not to idealize any woman. The preparations to meet him were immense, roses were planted everywhere, white and drooping with honeyed fragrance. He stood on the top step for a moment, lost in deep thought. ‘Ah, now I may see what damage Gérard has done to me,’ she muttered, crossing to the table and putting her hand to the sore place at her neck. ” She distantly remembered moments in childhood spent in phobic trance, when her father had told her God was punishing sinners in Hell.
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