Dr. Woody glanced down at the boy and then back to Jane. 'Alright, I've seen him. Now would you mind leaving me in peace?' His voice was gravelly but he had a refined accent, Southern, maybe. It reminded Jack of Amon. Though Amon's posh British voice had been a show, to impress customers, something told Jack that this man's accent was the real thing.
Jane seemed unfazed by Woody's attitude. 'He's got a werewolf bite, Doc, remember?'
Woody laced his brows together as if trying to recall. 'Rolland… bite…' He clicked his fingers. 'Yes, of course. Rolland, our little resister. What happened to him?'
'He had a really bad asthma attack, choking and had no breath. All those kinds of shit,' Jane replied.
Woody seemed to lose interest and began mumbling to himself. 'I'm going back to bed,' he announced grumpily.
