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"Arundel Stairs," replied Wood, "the nearest point to Wych Street. 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. . He stooped to recover it, and his face was hidden. ’ ‘He did, you know,’ grinned Gerald. The houses loomed progressively larger as one strode up the block, growing from ranch to two-story, from squat 1950's modern to stately 1890's palace. “It’s your birthday today, May Day. . "You cannot understand me, Madam; and it is well you cannot. But the recollection of the warm pliant body in his arms …! "I am a thief!" he whispered. "I must tell you," she was saying. His face will be all I need.
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