Only last night she saw me, and there was horror in her eyes. She had imagined that prisons were white-tiled places, reeking of lime-wash and immaculately sanitary. You cannot draw. Her long incarceration at the convent in Blaye had taught her to be dismissive of her own appearance. She thought of the marvellous beauty of skin, and all the delightfulness of living texture. Charming girl. “They’re all doing great. I'm no mollycoddle. ‘Typical. 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.
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