Mornings in Venezuela by Neil Leadbeater
(i) Strangers found them belly-up. Their barbed mouths were jaw-wide as if they had tried to draw down great gulps of air. Every man-Jack of them was a Xerox copy of blood-red ventrals. Before you go, she said, I will tell you all that I know. Aside from the oil, the gold and the diamonds, you will be like a man who suddenly sees through a gap between doors: the one half open ...