To Alistair--who's doing well on a day he can wrangle his heart onto his sleeve instead of having it sprawled out naked on his face--the steadiness is a surprise. A cold one. He'd cried.

But he's not crying now. He's standing there awkwardly, watching Max sniff at shirts and trousers and--not letting the dog make him sad again.

"We're hardly recruiting," he says, looking determinedly back up at Benevenuta.