James headed to the door, opening it for her. Sophie was careful to keep as much distance between them as she could while she passed in.
You can leave it here, you know. That stone, I mean. In the kitchen there are knives, cleavers, everything you can wish for, James suggested.
His expression was deadly serious, and Sophie could not tell if he was joking.
Id rather keep it, thanks.
As you wish.
Sophie followed James into the kitchen: this room, unlike the one in which she had awakened, seemed routinely used, and was clean and organised.
All the furniture here was very old, and seemed to date back to hundreds of years ago: the table was made of plastic, Sophie noticed, but the stoves were made of wood and heavy, dark metal. She had only read about such things in books, and saw them in some films set before the Great War.
The kitchen, like the darker the room upstairs, was illuminated by candles, Sophie noticed with some confusion.