‘Seems quiet enough,’ observed the junior officer, his gaze raking the shuttered windows of the building’s grey stone frontage. She had eaten them, murdered them routinely, and yet he loved her still. “That was a moment of madness,” she said. After the usual laconic greetings, he drew him on one side. "But what does he mean by calling you a wanton? —you, my wife?" Enschede's hand slipped from his daughter's shoulder.
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