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. There was a murmur or two among the watchers on the bench, but no one ventured to intervene again. "I understand, Sir," replied Davies, drawing a little aside. " "I can't exactly say, Sir Rowland. I can’t explain—” They regarded one another, each blinded to the other. ‘At this present, I must appropriate Lady Bicknacre.
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