“A confusion of motives—that’s what I am!. But she no longer felt Jacomo’s age, even if she looked it. “But I—I went to Nigel Ennison for help. His face was half hidden under a freshly pipeclayed sola topee—sun-helmet. It was as if her finite human brain could only store a limit of information, details like hair color and fingernail shape easily jettisoned to make room for the nuances of a grin or the emotion of a shoulder blade. To have the present lengthen into years! But in a few hours she would be upon her way, far lonelier than she had ever been. The pole-chair caravan resumed its journey.
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