The sun was setting, casting long dreary shadows across deformed apple trees. He would have sent the Virgin Mary to heal the baby. The palanquin is hired and so is the procession. . It is you who took my name, not I yours. 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. "Aren't you afraid?" "Of what?"—serenely. “The rest,” she said, holding tightly to his hands, “is the most important of all. And as these things should always be treated as matters of business, I'll just draw up a memorandum of our arrangement.
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