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to the door, and pushed her way out to the street. A distraught and horrified middle-aged woman was standing, weeping, beside the open door of the Mercedes. She was explaining to anyone who would listen that ''he was just therethere was nothing I could do" |
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Julian Walcott, the prim young man from the Canadian Consul General's office, was apologetic. "It is a terrible thing, Mrs. Neville. The lawlessness in this countryin this cityis unbelievable, but it was an accident and there is nothing our government can do except cooperate with the local people." He regarded Anna Neville's bleak expression with discomfort. They stood in the ugly, impersonal waiting room outside San Francisco General's trauma center. It was filled with weary people, awaiting news about their loved ones, good or bad. The air was cold and medicinal. The night sounds of a busy public hospital echoed against the bare walls and glass partitions. |
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Walcott, a junior consular officer under stress, made an effort to turn aside what he regarded as Anna Neville's silent accusation. He said almost plaintively, "Everything that could have been done for Mr. Grau has been done, Mrs. Neville. Please believe me." |
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The old brick hospital was located in the southern part of the city near the Lick Freeway, where it joined the approaches to the Bay Bridge. This was a vehicular battleground. The staff at San Francisco General was prodigiously experienced in treating the injuries inflicted by automobiles and by gunshots. |
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Pierre Grau had been alive when he arrived, though just barely. For three hours the trauma team had performed heroic feats. But thirty minutes ago, at 9:47 P.M., Grau had died without regaining consciousness. |
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"It was a ghastly accident, Mrs. Neville," Walcott said as firmly as he could manage. He stood first on one foot, then the other. This unfortunate affair had mined his plans for din- |
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