"I felt Kashmir beside me every step of the way," Lucy McGinley continued, "When I stalked, he stalked. When I crouched, he crouched."
Colour fades into the room, though no one yet moves. We have followed that thread, blind but trusting, and we have returned. The lamplight glows yellow against the rain- jewelled blackness of the window, but it is a stuttering yellow as the wick struggles to stay alive, and its stuttering makes the shadows leap and gives the people motion, even though none dare move.
Only Lucy McGinley speaks, her voice trembling, sounding strangely disconnected from her body.