Bannerman lay in the bed with a faint grey light creeping in through the shutters. He thought that, after all, he had no right to intrude on the private pains of a man like Slater. And then his mind turned to Sally. Her bright pretty face, her sudden withdrawal just when it seemed they were beginning to make contact. All the loneliness of the first night in a strange bed closed around him like a fist, before the drowsiness of approaching sleep scattered his thoughts and numbed his depression.

He was not sure how long he had been dozing. It might only have been a matter of minutes, or it could have been hours. And he was not certain at first what it was that had reached into the depths and forced him up to break the surface of consciousness. The moment of waking was one of confusion; the strange room, the unfamiliar bed, the smell of damp. The room was washed with the same grey light. Then beyond those first seconds of confusion came an awareness of another presence. Nothing he could see or smell or hear. He just felt it, and there was a momentary flutter of apprehension in his chest. He jerked up on to one elbow and saw the child standing in a long, shapeless nightdress, bare feet on the bare linoleum. She was only a couple of feet away, watching him. Big dark eyes. That peaceful, passive expression resting easy on her face. She seemed small, more fragile, more childlike. His first thought was that she might scream and he felt his body tighten with tension. But she just stood there.

He could hear his own breathing, loudly, clearly, and he could feel the blood pulsing at his temples. Something told him that it would be a mistake to speak, and a little of his tension slipped away. Then, as though the child sensed it, she took two small steps forward and reached out to touch his face. The fingers of her hand were icy against his skin and he felt a trembling in them. At first they rested on his cheek and then after a few seconds they began to follow the contours of his face, running along the line of his cheekbone, his nose, his lips, his jaw. He raised his own hand and placed it over hers, stopping it, feeling the coldness of it, and he squeezed it gently. A tiny smile lit her face, dark eyes staring into his, and he found himself extraordinarily moved. Then the small hand slipped away and she turned and padded to the door, opening it and closing it behind her without looking back. Bannerman remained motionless for a minute, maybe more. His head swam with the strangest feelings, the sensation that he had experienced something inexplicably precious.