“Hello, Gwen!” said Ann Veronica, trying to put every one at their ease. She had imagined that prisons were white-tiled places, reeking of lime-wash and immaculately sanitary. There was a new softness in her eyes, a hesitation, a timidity about her manner which was almost pathetic. His eyes looked a little bloodshot to her; his face had lost something of its ruddy freshness. ‘You and Jarvis Remenham both, yes. Once a thriving town before the Pestilence, most of the buildings and the piers had been destroyed or burned. “You’ve no right to badger me like this, Veronica,” he said.
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