The lunches were individual affairs: sandwiches, bottled olives and jam commandeered from the Victoria. It was rude and disrespectful to raise her eyes to him, her mother had warned. The infant’s body, now missing its pulverized head, was still twitching among the blood-soaked ruins of corpses. “We don’t pretend. " "Forgive you!" echoed his mother, with a look radiant with delight. She shrugged her shoulders. The face that looked down upon Ann Veronica was full of amiable intention.
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