The Doctor led us up, into the fire that was not the fire of salvation but the sort that burns, with smoke and hurt and tortured bodies and death. He walked arm in arm with Turing, and they talked, probably about miracles and the mysteries of the universe, but I couldn’t hear them any more. And anyway, it was probably all in code.

Outside, in the passageway, was the unsafe fascination of love, the liquid reality of a future where people did stupid things because the rules changed all the time and you had to feel your way through life.