Master Chef is still on, and as such, I'd like to read to you from Wilbur Smith's The Triumph of the Sun.
"One woman was knocked to her knees and dropped her infant under the feet of the surging crowd. Its howls became weaker as they trampled it. Finally a nail-shod sandal crushed the eggshell skull and the child was abruptly silent and lay still, an abandoned doll, in the dust."
You didn't get any warning about how graphic that would be, because guess what, neither did I when I was reading it. Reading it in bed. Waiting to float off to dream land. Abandoned dolls are so fucking creepy.
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