She did not see the metal pole swing toward the back of her skull, nor did she feel her own blood spoiling her light hair after the dull crack of metal broke her flesh. “Maternity,” she said, “has been our undoing. 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. “Last time I saw you,” he reminded her, “you spoke, did you not, of obtaining some employment in London. “Let’s go in here. A doubt as to your dinner to-morrow would make you miserable to-night. Then the hotel manager struck his palms together sharply, and two Chinese "boys" came pattering in from the dining room. Because I’m younger than you.
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