Melanie leads the way back down the hall, keeping her pace nice and slow so she doesn't leave Aziraphale behind. His question gives her a bit of a pang - she suspects that he's thinking of something like what she had with Miss Justineau, and she doesn't have that here. But she can't have that here, so there's no use moping about it.

Still, her cheeriness has taken on a dogged edge as she explains, "I have a lot of people to look after me. They keep me locked up safe, and there are a few who teach me things - though they're not as good as Miss Justineau, my teacher from home. They let me have books, too - lots of books - and they feed me once a week and everything." So really, things are about as good as can be expected.

The door to her room is still standing ajar, and she nudges it open with one hand and beckons to Aziraphale with the other. "This is it," she says with a pleased smile.

By her standards, it really is a nice room. No windows, but she hardly needs one - the same goes for a bathroom, of which there is no sign. The floor is bare cement that subtly slopes toward a drain in one corner. The furnishings consist of a little cot, a bookshelf, and a small table with two chairs, all securely bolted down. There's no television, but the walls boast a few colorful posters. "They let me pick these out myself," Melanie says, pointing to one of the London skyline and another of a rainforest.