Damian, beside me, had released my wrist and straightened his jacket.

He was arranging his face into the expression he had practiced, the modest surprise of a man about to be elevated.

He had stopped paying attention to the words.

He was waiting for his name.

It is a strange thing to stand beside a person and watch them wait, with total confidence, for a door to open onto exactly the room they expect, when you alone can see that the door opens somewhere else entirely.

I felt, for one unguarded second, something close to pity.