"No," muttered grumpily back, "I fucking don't."

He works in silence for a little too long, stewing-- Lazar is curious, asked what he's about, but he isn't even certain he has the words for it: that corpse could be anyone, could be your Mum, your neighbor, your first sweetheart. To see the body after death, let alone engage with it, kill it again, is the stuff of nightmares--

he throws the rag down, finished as he's going to be, and moves to walk off. A nerve has clearly been touched.