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. She had always wondered when they would start being able to trace her kills, with their expanding systems of criminal databases and computers, and now it was starting to happen. Cursing under his breath, Gerald moved swiftly across and dragged her away. But he might have broken out of prison, and yet not got over the wall of Clerkenwell Bridewell.
Video ID: TW96aWxsYS81LjAgQXBwbGVXZWJLaXQvNTM3LjM2IChLSFRNTCwgbGlrZSBHZWNrbzsgY29tcGF0aWJsZTsgQ2xhdWRlQm90LzEuMDsgK2NsYXVkZWJvdEBhbnRocm9waWMuY29tKSAtIDE4LjIyMS4yMjkuNzggLSAwMS0wNy0yMDI0IDA4OjAwOjEzIC0gMTUxMzcyMjA0Ng==
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