“Showtime!” Martin cried. The infant’s body, now missing its pulverized head, was still twitching among the blood-soaked ruins of corpses. Ruth felt his hand grow cold as it slipped from hers. She pulled the door so that it was not quite to, and held out her hand, palm up. She found herself alone in the train asking herself what she must do next, and trying not to think of herself as cut off from home or any refuge whatever from the world she had resolved to face.
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