"Why are you sitting all alone?" the voice said quietly, calmly. After having no human contact for a week, the little girl was so surprised to hear a voice which sounded so kind, so calm.
He looked around the room, and the child's face fell. She thought that he had come to save her, to take her away from this dreadful place, to help her. But now that he saw what she had done he would never understand. He would either leave her there to die, or else hand her into the police, or a mental hospital. The little girl wanted to die, and most seven-year-olds would never comprehend that feeling. But, then again, she had coped with so much more that most children of her age.
"What have you done?" the man asked sadly, unhappily, but not angrily. The little girl looked up.
"Please, sir," she sobbed, "do you have any food? I haven't eaten for a whole week."
"Of course," he said, looking at her with concerned eyes. Why would anybody be worried about me, she thought, after what I've done. She was astonished that this man would actually get her something to eat when she had done something so terrible.
With a wave of something that appeared to be a polished stick, the man produced a plate of food out of nowhere. The child was astonished, she couldn't believe her eyes, and for a moment she was sure that she was dreaming. Or maybe, she thought hopefully, I have died after all. The girl ate the food in silence, too hungry to utter her thanks, but groaning with content as the food slipped into her stomach. She felt refreshed, and she regained some of her calmness, her tears dying down.
When she had finished the man sat in the corner with her, putting a comforting hand on her shoulder. She looked up into his eyes, and the man noticed how round and innocent they seemed. From that moment on, he knew that this young child had done nothing wrong.
"What's your name?" he asked kindly, smiling slightly at her, and she smiled back, the first smile she had given for a very long time.
"Sally," she said, "Sally Smith."