There are certain principles involved with Mardi Gras-type events, and Camille Montes is well aware of them. She also has no fundamental problem with them (not to mention a sneaking suspicion that her father’s family would disown her for being so unBolivian if she did have problems with partying). No, what she has problem with is that whoever it is
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Says the rather creepy fellow sitting nearby.
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"I've seen worse."
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"It's funny when they fall over 'cause they're suddenly wearing heels."
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"I liked the sacrifices, Mr. Croup,," mutters Vandemar.
"So did I, Mr. Vandemar, so did I. That's beside the point, however, and anyway that's not Brazil. It's Mexico."
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"Which isn't in South America," she points out.
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"All those beautiful corpses . . . Ought to get some of those obsidian knives some time, Mr. Croup."
"Oh, I know. Excellent things, weren't they? It's been too long since I held a still-beating heart in my hand."
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"They weren't anywhere near Brazil. There are about..." She runs through a map in her head, "four, five countries between them, including about half of Central America and all of Columbia.""
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"I like piranhas \," adds Vandemar, helpfully.
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Beat.
"Do you? Not many people do."
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"Yeah. It's funny to drop someone into the water, watch them flail."
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"You've never actually dropped a live person into the water around piranhas, have you?"
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