To walk beside him, dressed akin to him, rucksacked and companionable, was bliss in itself; each step she took was like stepping once more across the threshold of heaven. The watcher's intake of breath was sibilant. In one angle of the room stood a disused fire-place, with a rusty grate and broken chimney-piece; in the other there was a sort of box, contrived between the wall and the boards, that looked like an apology for a cupboard. Spurlock snatched the check out of Ruth's hands and ran to the window. Lucy’s guts ached with jealousy and bitterness, building in a knot that twisted in her stomach, rag-like. He was human. At every step he seemed to be haunted by the ghost of the past.
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