The small boy sniffs the air. His narrow eyes, shiny as those of a rodent, slide sideways to Dr. Lecter’s lunch. He speaks with the piercing voice of a competitive sibling:
“Hey, Mister. Hey, Mister.” He’s not going to stop.
“What is it?”
“Is that one of those special meals?”
“It is not.”
“What’ve you got in there, then?” The child turned his face up to Dr. Lecter in a full wheedle. “Gimme a bite?”
“Mooooaaaahm, can I have some of his samwich?”
The baby in Mother’s lap awoke an began to cry. Mother dipped a finger into the back of its diaper, came up negative, and gave the baby a pacifier.
she called to Dr. Lecter. “Would you pass it down to me? If you’re offering it to my child, I want to see it. No offense, but he’s got a tricky tummy.”
He passed his Fauchon box down to Mother.
“Hey, nice bread,” she said, poking it with her diaper finger.
— Hannibal by Thomas Harris
Ughhhhh, poor Hannibal.