I've sent for the priest. 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. She remembered that she had not gone to bed until two o'clock in the morning. In fiction you make the Chinese secretive, criminal, and terrible—or comic. "Well, gentlemen," rejoined Wood, mildly; "since Mr. So the world is choked with waste and waiting daughters. She realized that he was the sort of man one does not think much about at dinners.
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