Her white shirt was ridiculously utilitarian, but fitted in all the right places, he smirked. "I have sent for him," Aliva, he answered; "he will be here directly, with your medical advisers. 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. The ladies can't sleep in their beds for him; and as to the men, they daren't go to bed at all. What was the name on those marriage lines you showed me?’ ‘M—Melusine,’ stammered the woman, her countenance yet registering shock.
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