“All these London fogs,” he remarked. “They're killers. Bodies just pile up here.”
He seemed surprised. Pleased, too, for it turned out no one else had applied for his job. “Necrophobia,” he whispered darkly. “A puzzling failing,” I explained to him my sanguine notion of man's comparability to a big rabbit; he laughed, and wondered aloud why more people didn't think that way. An interview followed: Utton turned out to be tall and solid man with a clubfoot and a ready laugh. I told him that I was rather more interested in the money than the biology; he responded that in addition to wages, he paid a per-body bonus of four shillings, and that a quick worker could soon be in pretty decent funds. “All these London fogs,” he remarked. “They're killers. Bodies just pile up here.”
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