Some of the lunatics were rattling their chains; some shrieking; some singing; some beating with frantic violence against the doors. ‘Tell me about the convent? Were you happy there? They were kind to you, the nuns?’ ‘Oh, but yes. 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. “You can look as innocent and shocked as you please. She knew, too, she must not hesitate. There is something inconglomerate about us.
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