“I know you, you sadistic bastard; it’s typical of you. You were in Canada in the war, weren’t you; a bloody good place to be then, wasn’t it? I’ll bet you stuck your fat head into Mummy’s apron any time an aeroplane flew over. What are you now? A creeping little acolyte to Mundt and twenty-two Russian divisions sitting on your mother’s doorstep. Well, I pity you, Fiedler, the day you wake up and find them gone. There’ll be a killing then, and not Mummy or big uncle will save you from getting what you deserve.”
