Chapter 4: Faces of the Fallen

C. cleared his spectacles with his sleeve and slid them up his nose.  The space before him swarmed with watchers in flux: tucked, fierce, dumpy faces, wax heads over threadbare, stuffed costumes, narrow scarecrows tilting over cigarettes.  A baby’s head bobbed drunken among warts and bellies in an arthritic, gnarled forest of hardening flesh.  Pressing a book to her heart, a schoolgirl, mislaid, wandered between stony foreheads and slooping chins.


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