"Okay." He gets up, bent like he's trying to put off taking his face from here as long as possible, and steps into the hallway to make the call. He's still sensitive to light (he feels like his eyeballs are being squeezed inside a fist when he flicks the switch on), but the phone call goes well enough, words coming out and being received at a normal volume. He doesn't give details, just lies and says that Swann was awful sick last night and said he should call her out if he didn't hear otherwise from her.

He returns to her with Marcel, held out like an infant that's wet itself and screaming, even though the dog is perfectly well-behaved. He sets the dog next to Swann's face, and Marcel begins to lick in enthusiastic concern at his master.