’ ‘Sit down, Hilary,’ ordered Lucilla, and to Gerald’s amusement, her betrothed did so, perching on the desk close by and staring fixedly at the major. It was horrible, but what could she do? She meant to live her own life, and he meant, with contempt and insults, to prevent her. 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 midst of them there was a cart with a man in it—and that man was Jack—my son Jack—they were going to hang him. Shotbolt?" asked Austin.
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