” He put his hands on her shoulders and lowered her onto the flat surface of the picnic bench. 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. “Didn’t you just get over an ear infection not two weeks ago? You’re asking for another one. ‘By traitors I am surrounded!’ ‘Stop talking utter twaddle,’ ordered Roding, marching up to the desk.
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