He guides Johnny to the edge of the bed with a last, lingering press of his fingertips, before relinquishing the contact to go sit in an armchair by the bedside. Lifting his glasses off his nose to slide them over the crown of his head, he fixes sharp eyes on Johnny, sitting casually slumped, one ankle balanced on the opposite knee.

'And you were,' he murmurs. 'Interested.' It sounds like that fact pleases him; he likes people with an irrisistable compulsion to poke their noses where they shouldn't. 'Tell me why. What about the manuscript... drew you in?'