“I remember it very well indeed. "You've ruined my hopes. ” Anna gave her address to the driver. She had arranged for a supper of tea, a boiled egg, and some tinned peaches. 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. You can’t do that sort of thing unless you do it over religion, and there’s no religion in me—of that sort—worth a rap. You take them. I thought you might like to see. " There was no danger in admitting this fact.
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