Lyra. Chapter 3. The Threshold

She had let no one in here. Not the way she let him in. To her it was nothing — a room, a doorway, a wave of the hand. To him it was a held breath. A man did not simply step into a woman's dwelling, and he lingered at the threshold, hand on his hip, half a question on his lips. The low sun and the little lamp made the poor space almost golden. She only smiled and beckoned. Come in. There is something I want you to see.