“Thinking about the weather was one way of shutting out of his mind the appalling bloody human mess sprawled out over the bed of this seedy hotel room in central London. The sight and smell was sickening - even to a hardened detective like him. Felling the bile rising in his throat again, he hurried out into the dimly lit corridor. “Where are you, Sergeant? Is the doctor here yet?”
Book:The French Spy