The stillsuit appeared at the foot of his bed that evening. He wore it now, as he leaned against the back wall of the room where Oswin watched, his features hidden behind the mask and the hood of his costume.
He could hardly hear her mechanical voice. Her. Its? Oswin's voice. He could hardly hear it under the muffling layers of coats -- but he wouldn't leave her there, despite his reservations about showing himself to her again.
And it wasn't necessarily true that she would recognize him, dressed as he was. He set his hooks on his shoulder and started over toward her. A few minutes later, he was busy picking out coats and folding them over his free arm.
"Better, there?" he asked, when he finally uncovered the stalk with the blue light at the end. He'd long ago started thinking about this part of Oswin as her only way of seeing, and the comment about her vision had sealed that assessment.