’ Tears sprang to Melusine’s own eyes, and she clasped the hand she held more tightly. A simple wooden monument was placed over the grave, but without any name or date. I mystify you; I can see that. 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. Gerald looked at it, then at her face. She fell into another depression, refusing to touch Sebastian or call him husband when he demanded it. . . Besides, you cannot visit people armed with a pistol in London, you know.
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