It was an intimate smell, the unmistakable scent of him and another woman. The infant’s body, now missing its pulverized head, was still twitching among the blood-soaked ruins of corpses. His eyes caught at hers with passionate inquiries. Only a book detective could dope this out. The sound of their strident voices floated upwards, the high nasal note of the predominant Americans, the shrill laughter of girls quick to appreciate the wit of such of their male companions as thought it worth while to be amusing. ‘I do not believe you.
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