Seeing Owen asleep and the two men deep in conversation, she slipped off the sofa and out the door. It was much colder in the corridor and she shivered and drew her coat around her. She passed the mirror quickly. She didn't like the idea of having no reflection, but she couldn't help a sideways glance. When she reached the museum door and looked back she jumped at her delayed reflection staring solemnly from the glass. Inside the museum she moved carefully through the exhibits. The eyes of the sad, extinct terfuge seemed to watch her. She found the case with the Yeati's hand in it. The fur was gleaming white, even though it must be very old. Rosie examined the case. There was a small brass lock at the edge of it. She hesitated, then took a hairpin from under her hat and stuck it into the keyhole. She twiddled it about for a minute, then the lock sprang open. Rosie cocked her head to listen, but all was silent. Carefully she lifted the hand from the case. It was much lighter than she'd imagined and, even though it was long dead, it had a feeling of life about it.
