Her mind invoked her husband, who she imagined lying dead in a ditch somewhere, tortured and killed by brigands or perhaps eaten by creatures like herself, a fate he actually deserved. If she spoke to a policeman she did not know what would ensue. Most of the tables were for those who smoked only and drank wine, but there were a few spread with tablecloths and laid for dinner. And then, for the first time, Wood noticed a small stream of blood coursing slowly down her cheek. Also she made little pussy-like sounds of a reassuring nature.
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