By now, we are sick and sad. Such are the details a tsunami leaves the living to work out. Someone calls for a knife. Two men hack through the offending strands, right next to the girl's head. Both have their noses covered, are still almost gagging. Will the earth mover do what it must, this time?
Not yet. Someone shouts, first the photo! First the photo! I protest, but he explains, the police need every body photographed for enumeration and for claims. But who will know who this faceless tragedy is? Someone actually leans over and lifts a scrap of cloth away from her face. Even if her hair wasn't sprayed all over, it would be impossible to know who she was. But the police do what they must.
The maw gets back to work. Lovingly again, it picks up the girl, lowers her into her grave. That puts an end to the final indignity the girl has suffered, this tug of war between machine and net in front of a few dozen men.
