He had performed his duty with considerate expertise. — Do not move, Mr Chapman. I am trying not to cut you. And now Veronica was washing him, preparing his body for the ongoing slaughter or investigation or whatever Dr Pereira cared to call it. — There, there, she murmured, as if to a fearful child. Was he frightened? His brain wasn’t telling him so, but could it be that Veronica was seeing signs of abject terror in his eyes, in the face she was sponging with such delicate attentiveness? — Where are you from, Veronica? — You asked me that question the other day and I gave you the answer. Have you forgotten? — I must have. Mea culpa. — The answer’s still the same, Mr Chapman. My family hails from Odessa, but I was born in Bristol. — I shan’t forget a second time. — You must have more important matters on your mind. Yes, indeed. Yes, Veronica, I am thinking of being alive at this moment and, perhaps, not being alive when the medics have finished with me. And if I could tell you, which I don’t wish to, that I am not afraid, for reasons far beyond logic, you in your infinite kindness would probably not believe me.
