"Would they be?" Mal said, almost angrily. "You can't say for certain that what we had been doing was all for naught. I refuse to believe that," he told Patrick, breathing heavily out his nose. "What we were doing was broken, but it did some good or else what was the point?"
And if it hadn't done any good, then Mal did as good as killed his own daughter.
When the wine was poured, Mal rubbed his temple and his hand automatically went for the glass. "If these attacks don't get stopped soon, then what you said is true. Already there is prejudice within the Ministry about weres so I have no doubt how hard it is for them out there in the general populace," Mal said, then drank half his wine in one swallow.
His food had been temporarily forgotten. "I can't, in good conscience, not do anything about those who get turned and don't go to the Ministry for help. Frankly, I don't blame them if they don't either. So, I was thinking - if they won't go to the Ministry, and if they don't go to St. Mungo's. Then they need a place that is safe and off the grid."