He followed her.

Not closely — he would be in whatever room she was in, three or four yards away, doing something else, apparently absorbed in it, and if she moved to another room he would arrive there ninety seconds later.

She did not comment on this.

She never asked him a question that required an answer.

She learned this in the first three days: a question is a demand for a performance, and every adult in that child’s life for two years had been quietly demanding a performance.

So she talked near him instead of to him.