She tried the door in the morning. The door was the door in the parlour, behind the books. The door was the white door, the door that had been the part of the cottage that had been the part of the dream that had been the part of the hallway of the hospital. The door had been ajar, a crack of light, for many mornings. The door had been ajar since the morning Alastair had said her name for the first time. She went to the books. She moved the books to the side. The door was behind the books. The ...