‘Pardon, milor’,’ said Valade, ‘but Monsieur Charvill, he was not at fault. At length the task was done, and she jabbed the needle into a cushion, folded the coat, and rose. She went about the gory business of disposing of the bodies, cutting them up with a large butcher knife and packing the light dry pieces of their bloodless remains in a double ply garbage bag, pieces that looked like overcooked, ruined meat. "What did you say to him?" inquired Jonathan, suspiciously. The baby crawled towards them, seeking their blood. Piercing through every crevice in the clothes, it, in some cases, tore them from the wearer's limbs, or from his grasp.
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