"the name is clem snide - i am a private asshole - as a private investigator i run into more death than law allows - i mean the law of averages - yes - routine case of industrial sabotage -

and the factory blows up

killing 23 people - well these things happen - i am a man of the world

going to and fro - and walking up and down in it - now death smells - i mean death has a special smell - over and above the smell of cyanide, choradide, blood, carrion or burnt flesh - it's a grey smell - it stops the heart - cuts off the breath - smell of the empty body - smell of field hospitals and gangrene - i got a whiff of it when mr. green walked into my office"

Moi, j'avais jamais rien dit. Rien

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