Ennison roused himself with an effort, took a long drink from his whisky and soda, and lit a cigarette. Her fingers found the lump she sought and, with a little effort, she dragged out the black-wrapped foil. “But we only aid the beccamorti by giving them our business! I refuse to pay exorbitant prices for wood coffins and burial for lesser servants who could just as easily be dragged into the pit! Let the dead bury the dead!” “You fool! It is the gross lack of sanitation you speak of that has brought us to this very end. ‘There’s a surgeon on his way, and my men are under orders to do whatever is needful. That'll tune me up.
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