“Sure. I told him instantly and shamelessly that the play was going to be worth ten thousand pounds. 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. “I cut off his right hand pinky with his own rusty bolt cutter. Entering the Red Room, he crept through the hole in the wall, descended the chimney, and arrived once more in his old place of captivity. Michelle pulled a Kleenex out of a Pocket Pack and blew her nose. The attempt was unsuccessful.
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