Of a lonely man.

He looks out the heavy glass window with his coffee in his hand. It is getting cold. He should go get it warm. Cold coffee is not good. But he is so comfortable in his couch...

That's good. Concentrate on the small things. Don't think outside the circle.

He drives his hand softly up his neck. It's so cold in this house. He wonders how The Master managed living here, in this icy and damp...

No, no. No thinking about him, lad. Stay inside.

The coffee is getting colder. He gets brusquely up and out and far from the couch, making the little wooden table fall noisily and shatter to pieces.

Mother won’t like this.

She won’t see it.

He, now calmly, walks to the kitchen with the coffee cup held in a very strange manner. If anyone could see him they probably would think him mad.

So they would, if only anyone.

And they would be right.

But of course no-one could see him. He was alone. Finally alone. He had worked so hard to get to this day, and it all had resolved merrily. And merry it would stay. He would make sure of that...

The coffee, lad. Stay inside. There’s no need to bring the Beast out.

He opened the gas.