"That's it!" cried Wild when Trenchard concluded. 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 her ears there was a medley of sound: wailing music, rumbling tom-toms and sputtering firecrackers. ‘What is it that you told him?’ ‘Nothing, miss, I swear. Her specialty is the central thing in life, it is life itself, the warmth of life, sex—and love.
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