“Nigel, don’t you understand. Her hair had become so matted that Sebastian had sheared it off, which made her the very mirage of a nubile young boy. He was entranced as she walked towards him. The big gray spaces of London, the shop-lit, greasy, shining streets, had become very remote; the biological laboratory with its work and emotions, the meetings and discussions, the rides in hansoms with Ramage, were like things in a book read and closed. “Lucy, I have to talk to you. He regretted now that in his idle hours he hadn't hunted up one against the rainy day.
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