Near the bus stop, they passed a man with his head bandaged who leaned against a building with shattered windows, something one would expect to see in a battle zone. Yet that’s exactly what London had become—a battle zone. Leslie smiled in sympathy and, perhaps thinking the fellow was homeless, he went over and held out a few coins in his hand.
The man refused his offering. “I’m fine. Leave me be.”
Mrs. Crowe came over to the man and handed the man a card that he accepted in silence.
“What was that all about?” Leslie asked.
“It’s about his pride. That’s all.” She opened her handbag and began fishing around for something. “Here’s another one.” She held out a small card.
“This is what you gave him?”
She nodded. “I always keep a few of these in my bag. You never know when you’ll need on
