Ford had bunched the sheet around his lap and was holding it in place so firmly that his knuckles were white, but he thought he might have been better off with a pillow like Macnair had. The sheet was so thin that he still felt dreadfully exposed, even if he wasn't, and even if the ghost who'd wandered in had already gone. (Even if the ghost had already seen all of it, anyway, so there wasn't much good to be done in covering up).

Ford blinked at the wall where the ghost had disappeared, as though to ensure he wasn't about to return, then turned his wide eyes to Macnair. "Well?" he repeated. He didn't know what to say, but he was going to need a lot more information to go on than just that.

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