A dark mass of wreckage, over which hung a slight mist of vapour, lay half in the ditch, half across the hedge, close under a tree from the trunk of which the bark had been torn and stripped. Over here a man quickly loses faith, and I find myself back on solid ground once more. 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. For the face under her gaze she could find but one expression—fine. A skeleton was propped against the mantelpiece.
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