Heather chewed, swallowed, then told him. 'You're Heather Inglis? The Heather Inglis? I read about you ... oh Jesus ...' He started to cry. 'Oh fucking Jesus ... it ... it was him , wasn't it? The Flesher ... oh Jesus Fucking Christ ...' 'Who's the--' 'I didn't see him! I was ... from the back garden and ... oh God, Hazel ... What happened to Hazel? Where is she? WHERE'S MY WIFE? HAZEL?' He was screaming again. 'HAZEL?' 'Well, this is going to get old really fast. ' Duncan plonked himself down on the mattress and sniffed at the tinfoil parcel in Heather's hands.'That smells nice. ' 'You want some?' 'HAZEL!' 'Can't: dead remember? ' 'HAZEL!' The screams gave way to sobbing. 'Hazel ...' Heather took pity on him. 'Are you hungry, Mr New? Do you want something to eat?' She held one of the escalopes out between the bars. 'It's good.' 'Hazel ...' 'You need to keep your strength up.' 'Heather, I don't think you should get too attached to this guy. ' The sobbing went on for a while, but eventually Mr New accepted a drink of water and one of the escalopes. She could hear him sniffing it, then the crunch as he bit through the crust, mumbling,'What is it?' as he chewed. 'Veal, I think ... or pork. Difficult to tell in the dark. Maybe--' Mr New was spitting, gagging, retching. 'Are you OK?' 'Aaaaaaaaagh, Jesus ...' A wet splattering noise as he vomited onto the cold metal floor - the stomach-churning reek filled the stale air. 'It's not that bad.' He was crying again. 'It's people! Oh Jesus ... Don't you get it? It was on the news: the Flesher kills people and cuts them up for meat! We're eating people ...' Duncan nodded.'He's right, you know. ' Heather felt her stomach lurch. 'But I've been eating it for ages ...' 'You didn't have a choice, though, did you? It was that or starve. '
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