Jason could care less.Working in the Concentration Camps of pre-war Germany, inured him to human suffering. That he was a trifle mad worked to his ben...fit. No pity and a sociopathic outlook allowed him to experiment. Free rein from Herr Hitler assured no complaints from his staff.Eventually, the handwriting on the wall said, "The Third Reich has failed. Get out while you can."In 1943, confiscated wealth and loyal underlings transferred Jason from Germany by U-Boat to the coast off Rye, New. She further had taken the opportunity to put her hair in order, it having become considerably disarranged and rumpled by her recent strugglings.Her face had lost the woebegone look, and there was a certain air of almost satisfaction about her which I could not understand, for she smiled as our eyes met, at the same time faintly colouring, and concealing her cunt with her left hand as she approached me.I offered her a glass of wine, which she drank, then I passed my left arm round her waist and. A small portion of death, less drastic than taking it all at once, yet somehow soothing at the same time. It reminded me also of other things… of former lovers who’d smoked, it was a little comforting to have that connection, even if it were for so brief an instant. The wind seemed to smoke the cigarette for me while I contemplated… it certainly didn’t give me as much time to think as the last cigarette… but that was just as well. I finally patted the cigarette out on my hand, cursing myself. I wasn’t sure if the rest of my staff was aware so I forwarded it to everyone who was there that morning. ‘Did you hear about Jeff?’ whispered another as she came by. ‘He caught the bus on Saturday.’ I could not hold back my slight laugh. ‘It’s not funny!’ she chided me. ‘Now I’ll have to train another.’ ‘First of all, I’m laughing at the euphemism. I mean there haven’t been buses in ten, fifteen years, at least not public transit buses like when I was growing up.’ No, there hadn’t been any.