[He could counter her argument, because he does have a counter: it's fucking cold out and he's not a monster. Well, except in that one way. But in the end he doesn't need to, because Hill House interrupts her for him.]

[When he turns to look at her, it's with a faint, pleased smile. Not so much proud, he didn't do any of this, but it's nice to see her . . . happy? Interested in a positive way, at least. That's why he's smiling.]

It's something, isn't it? I'm not sure who built it originally, but they did an incredible job. It goes down a story and into the next hill as well.

[And this is where he ended up, swept up in the wake of the self that used to be here. That's less nice, but he can cope with it. Another quick look at her shows more, areas of discomfort and uneven bulk. He makes an executive decision.]

The garden's very warm, so we'll go there. You can leave your coat in one of the kitchen chairs as we go past; would you like anything to drink?

[And he goes. He sweeps across the front room with the sort of indefatigable determination of a glacier. She can either follow him or continue to stand awkwardly in the foyer.]