Yet her hands dropped, and she sighed deeply. He was braver than her husband, who paced and cowered in the corners of the once-sunny Palazzo. “I suppose things have changed?” she said. “It’s like Troy!” said a voice of rapture. At this moment, Blueskin appeared with the lamp, and revealed a horrible spectacle,—the floor deluged with blood,—various articles of furniture upset,—papers scattered about,—the murdered man's cloak, trampled upon, and smeared with gore,—his hat, crushed and similarly stained,—his sword,—the ensanguined cloth,—with several other ghastly evidences of the slaughterous deed.
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