The quietest of all killing is Mr. Brunswick. He lies in his coffin as if he were a afternoon nap. His old farmers face still Ruddy from a long outdoor life and if I not sure knew he had a heart attack and no longer belongs to the living, I would swear that he at the peak of the meeting, when everyone his second glass has emptied, on would stand and would order a gin at the bar.
Wordt vertaald, even geduld aub..
