"After waiting a time that had no measure, the darkness of the street was crenellated by light falling from the open door of Marie’s small row house. The front door gave directly on to the street and the yellow light slapped trapezoidally onto the paving stones. Abe gave no visible reaction. His whole being was actually centred on the oblong of yellow light. At this point he knew not whether she lived alone, or lived with someone - in any permutation of the meaning of that phrase. All he knew was that this was her registered address. The light flipped off, and a vague shadow entered the doorway, too indistinct to allow identification, except Abe knew, somehow, inexplicably, that it was she. Still no perceptible sign in Abe. Except perhaps a slight tensing of the abdomen, not amounting to a leaning forward. Marie - for it was she - searched for her key and locked the door. A pulse started in Abe’s neck, mirrored by a slow whoomphing sound in his ears. A solitary, cold bead of sweat trickled down his side, under his shirt. He didn’t know it, but his toes curled involuntarily."