A dozen words, and he saw Enschede as clearly as though he stood hard by in the flesh. The steps, even the pavements, were invaded by little knots of loungers driven outside by the unusual heat of the evening, most of them in evening dress, or what passed for evening dress in Montague Street. On the floor, underneath the sixth row desks, was an ashtray with a small black dot of blood on its blunt round corner. ‘No mistaking you this time. The echoes of his hard, unpleasant laugh reached Anna on her way upstairs.
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