So, bloody but unbeaten, weak and spent but undaunted, he waited for the Wastrel to spring up. My name is Annabel, not Anna. ’ Roding started. They got to go home and eat Campbell’s Chicken Soup. She had imagined that prisons were white-tiled places, reeking of lime-wash and immaculately sanitary. Or was that perhaps because his business in Piccadilly the other day had gone awry? Perhaps Brewis Charvill had not welcomed him with open arms. She heard the ocean in the distance, waves crashing on the beach, high tide. Anna did not pause, but she looked over her shoulder with slightly lifted eyebrows. An extra pair of gym clothes materialized within fractions of a second.
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