Asking her way once or twice, she passed along Fleet Street into the Strand, and crossed Trafalgar Square, into Piccadilly. Jolly nice girl, too. She was not allowed to bathe herself: another prisoner, with a privileged manner, washed her. Michelle moaned and Lucy, unable to help herself, stroked her hair. When she awoke, she felt sick, her mouth still salty with blood. "For the sake of the girl. She resolved not to allow him or her hunger detract from the performance at hand, as it would be a special one, an evening to be remembered in the gray days to follow like a precious jewel. She tossed her head, and, having no further words, moved toward the door. They did not have to wait long. Because of the Dance.
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