In the quiet interrogation room, Lynch sat half-perched on the table, arms crossed, one foot dangling, the other touching the ground, looking at Mr. Fox, "You can eat something first, we'll talk once you're done."
Mr. Fox glanced at Lynch and then quietly started eating.
He chewed carefully, his doctor had told him that at his age, and having faced hunger in his youth, he had chronic gastritis that was hard to cure, so he couldn't eat too quickly, otherwise, he'd have unbearable stomach pains at night.
He chewed slowly, and for the first time, realized that boiled chicken breast wasn't so bad, even though it lacked flavor. Plain water-boiled chicken breast, dry and tough, but to someone hungry, it was still supreme cuisine.
The meal took over ten minutes, and Lynch silently watched him finish the last bit of vegetable puree before nodding.
"Now that you're full, shall we talk about our matters?"
"What have you considered?"
