An ancient smile lay on his lips. He left that arid rule clear of the least mist of refinement or delicacy. 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. In the struggle her cap fell off. They were the same. She seemed smitten with a paroxysm of fear. Thus, you see, I've never hesitated and never shall hesitate to expose my life where anything is to be gained. And now for the fawney— the ring I mean.
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