"Yes, I suppose so, but you give up counting after a bit." The voice paused, then it went on: "I say, would you mind taking this glass thing off? It's stuffy in here; besides, I shouldn't have to shout."
Lydia hesitated.
"I never interfere with anything in this room. My husband gets so annoyed if I do."
"Oh, you needn't be afraid I shall run away. I'll give you my word on that, if you like."
But Lydia was still doubtful.
"You're in a pretty desperate position, you know," she said, with an involuntary glance at the alcohol bottle.
"Not really," said the voice in a tone that suggested a shrug. "I've often been caught before. Something always turns up — it has to. That's one of the few advantages of of having a really permanent curse on you. It makes it impossible for anything really fatal to happen."
Lydia looked round. The window was shut, the door, too, and the fireplace was blocked up.
"Well, perhaps for a few minutes, if you promise," she allowed.
She lifted the jar, and put it down to one side. As she did so the curtains of web trailed out, and tore.