I’ve not been so close to her before, or – at least so she must believe – so vulnerable, completely naked under this blanket, and, as far as she knows, disoriented, sick, and hurting. Except very far in the distance I could see something coming, shaped like a person walking. Can’t turn her away when she’s like this, can I? Don’t be such a git, I told her. My mind slipped back over years and decades and two long centuries, to the time I was with another girl, the same age as this one, in a bedroom considerably more ornate than this, in a castle whose walls were long crumbled. Her clothes are in the washing machine. It takes so much effort that I can’t devote the attention necessary to much else. If we wanted to kill her we’d have done so ourselves. Didn’t try to cover herself up, though. Sometimes I hate what I am. I’ve never been with a girl before.”
“Don’t worry about a thing,” I tell you again.
