“Have you any money?” “Lots,” Anna answered laconically. She stared out of the paned glass window, watching the trees being blown bare by the gale force. She went on her way now no longer dreaming and appreciative, but disturbed and unwillingly observant behind her mask of serene contentment. The infant’s body, now missing its pulverized head, was still twitching among the blood-soaked ruins of corpses. “I throw it out in passing,” he said.
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