The genausqua gestured again. “Sit” then “quiet”.
We waited. In the distance I could hear the sounds of men. I did not have to strain to know that they spoke French. Until that moment, I had not known how much I missed the sound of it. As the men got closer I began to recognize more than the sound of language or individual words.
The genausqua pressed his lips together in a tight angry line. Yes, the planning of murder was an ugly thing in any language.