Dont give us that, you stinking gyppo, advised one of them. ˜Taking a leak, is it? More like taking a fix of smack. We know your sort. Hey, Petru? What dyou reckon the chances are if we search this hovel, well find ˜someones little stash? Pretty decent, eh? Yeah, could well be, sneered the other officer. Could well be. What do you say, mate? Ive got nothing¦ I swear, choked Nicolae, wondering if this was really the best answer and quickly being answered in the resoundingly negative: Right: you ˜old ˜im down, ordered the first officer, whereupon his comrade stilled Nicolaes agonised writhing by planting a boot over his sternum and pressing down with an almost suffocating intensity¦ but this was the least of his pains: for the other officer took this opportunity to administer a barrage of blows to his feet, his legs, his arms, and his sides, each strike igniting a fresh furnace in his central nervous system.

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