‘Where was I? Oh yes. 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. ‘That’s right, you bone idle do-nothings. He dodged the boot this time, and smashed his left upon the Wastrel's lips, leaving them bloody pulp. Wood's anxiety respecting the fugitive was speedily relieved by hearing another waterman busy himself in preparation for starting; and, shortly after, the dip of a second pair of oars sounded upon the river.
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