” “Martin, it’s a monumental achievement for any composer. Manning?” she asked. John introduced the tall boy. 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. Then she glanced at the cards again, over which her aunt’s many-ringed hand played, and then at the rather weak, rather plump face that surveyed its operations. There were lines in her face that age had not put there. CHAPTER XXIII. "See the devil!—not I," cried Wood impatiently.
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