But it was something.Edith was helping to boil a pot of stew on a stove, while Odile doled it out into wooden bowls that were greedily snatched from her by desperate supplicants in the long queue that stretched ahead of her. This queue had started to form well before dawn and many of the hungry and needy had been waiting for hours."How's it going?" asked Roland cheerfully. He was the old man who'd organised the soup kitchen in Lancaster after thugs had burnt down a similar enterprise in London. This was an inferno in which dozens of helpless patients were incinerated. As Roland frequently reminded Odile and the others who occasionally worked for him, things might be bad in Lancaster but they were much worse in London. Odile wondered whether Roland was just saying that to comfort people who usually saw a capital city on television that still had expensive shops, art galleries and public monuments. Was it really so bad in England's distant far south? Odile wasn't sure. She'd never even. Angel was like a circus animal, bred in captivity. She allowed herself to be tamed, and turned tricks for her handlers delight, simply because it was safer to obey than to fight. But there was no doubt that the girl had fight. It was clear she would fight if she felt the need. Although she had no clue what life was like outside of prostitution, she was still a wild animal, and her wild instincts were still there in the back of her subconscious. Dante stood and walked down the hall to the bathroom. He splashed a handful of cool water on his face before leaning on the edge of the sink to look in the mirror at himself. What was he doing? Did he have more feelings than simple care for the girl? It sure felt like it. But why? He had dealt with hundreds of girls just like Angel, and not once had he felt like this. Nothing could happen between them. Sure they had had sex, but he knew he had to suppress these feelings. He was a police officer. An outstanding police officer, and one of the.
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