‘Who me, sir? Lor’ no, sir. “But was it wise to sing to-night?” “Why not? The man was nothing to me. ‘Seems quiet enough,’ observed the junior officer, his gaze raking the shuttered windows of the building’s grey stone frontage. Take that box, and put it into the carriage yourself. Annabel passed on with a strained nod to her sister, and Sir John’s bow was a miracle of icy displeasure. It seemed to them they could never have been really alive before, but only dimly anticipating existence. When she was done she checked the patio door and carried his body into the garage, burying his remains next to the ten year old girl he had raped and killed last autumn, whose bones were starting to show in small areas where the maggots had feasted. He did not write this with lead but with his heart's blood.
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