A common rage flushed their faces. "I beg your pardon!… A bit rocky this morning…. 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. But it was almost choked up with fallen stacks of chimneys, broken beams of timber, and shattered tiles. It’s no good hiding it any more. Once a thriving town before the Pestilence, most of the buildings and the piers had been destroyed or burned.
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