Edgar looks at Curtis's face, and doesn't say anything. They're taking the body away now, toward the front end of the tail section, where the guards will take it when they come for head count.

Harry didn't have much in the way of personal possessions, even for the tail. One of the older women is collecting them now, to bring to Gilliam's tent: a pair of shoes, a ratty sweater, a little star that somebody twisted out of scrap wire and hung from a string, a handful of dog-eared postcards.