An emaciated, daddy-long-legs of a man was snoozing over by the door; his chair at a distance from the others, bony fingers clawing at his chest as if sleep brought him no peace.
'But I'm lucky,' Vic went on. 'I'm only here on remand till proved well enough to leave. Most of these folk are sentenced to life, to use a very inappropriate noun.'
Despit his leg, Vic insisted on walking me out to the Merc. As we passed the daddy-long-legs, a hand shot out and grabbed my arm. 'I was fucked by The Master.' The voice was wheezy, androgynous, but the eyes begged me to believe him. 'I was fucked by The Master.'
'Which school were you at then, Sir?' I grinned.
'Hush now Dickie', said Vic gently. 'He means Noel Coward. Dickie was a chorus-boy in his day.'
'Well I can see that', I said. 'You've still got the legs for it, Sir.'