A cat in heat, patrolling the tin roof of the warehouse, screeched with an almost human voice as Petra pulled the scarf from her head and used it to unscrew the naked electric bulb in the socket over the door. In the darkness, the Doctor got out of the car and slipped into the warehouse. He kept the tips of his fingers on Petra’s shoulder and followed her through the maze of aisles formed by shoulder-high stacks of crates. Overhead, shafts of silvery moonlight pierced the rain-streaked panes of the skylights, strewing the cement floor with slippery shadows. From every side came the fragrant scents of oranges and apples and carrots and parsley. A fat woman materialized in the aisle. She sank with difficulty to her knees, caught the hem of the Doctor’s robe in her thick fingers and brought it to her lips. “I ask you, I beg you, in the name of Allah, the Merciful, the Compassionate,” she whimpered. “Spare the life of my husband for his family’s sake.” A young man loomed behind the fat woman.
