В комнате смерти

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It was a death room. Holodov knew it for what it was as soon as the door opened. The floor was gray industrial tile. The walls were green stone, marked here and there with darker patches that might have been blood—certainly blood had been spilled in this room. The overhead lights were cupped in wire cages. Halfway across the room stood a long wooden table with two people seated behind it. Beside the chair stood a small wheeled trolley. The object on it had been draped with a piece of cloth, as a sculptormight cover his work!

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